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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27381727">Meet me out at the end of my rope</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiwiana/pseuds/yourbuttervoicedbeau'>yourbuttervoicedbeau (kiwiana)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Schitt's Creek</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Break Up, Canon Dialogue, Drug Use, Episode: s05e11 Meet the Parents, Epistolary interludes, Exes to Lovers, Lovers to Exes to Lovers, M/M, Multi, POV Alternating, Post-Break Up, Reconciliation, Recreational Drug Use, Unsafe Sex, angstapalooza, or more accurately</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 00:12:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>53,690</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27381727</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiwiana/pseuds/yourbuttervoicedbeau</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Usually, David will take any excuse to put himself in Patrick’s space. This time, though, he stays where he is, though he does stop whatever he’s doing with the crab cakes. “So, your mom said something interesting to me earlier.” His voice is painfully neutral and with his back still turned, Patrick doesn’t have an expression to read.</em><br/><br/>Or, what if more than one bombshell was dropped the day of Patrick's birthday — one they couldn't come back from?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alexis Rose &amp; David Rose, David Rose/Original Character(s), Patrick Brewer &amp; Stevie Budd, Patrick Brewer/David Rose, Stevie Budd &amp; David Rose</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1061</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>743</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. We had an epic movie trailer love</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Here it is. By far the longest singular fic I've ever written, the one that was in my WIP folder as "Angstapalooza". I promise there's a happy ending, but I also promise it's going to hurt a lot on the way — so strap in, I hope it's worth it.</p><p>This fic wouldn't exist without ships_to_sail who, when I messaged her at 12:30am saying "I had a terrible thought while rewatching Meet the Parents just now, please talk me down from it" instead read my terrible thought, then wrote me a four-page outline and said "go write one million words of this". So really, it's her fault. (And I hope she forgives me for managing... far less than that.)</p><p>I owe a huge debt of thanks to both ships_to_sail and fishyspots, who read this chapter by chapter and held my hand and pet my hair and swore at me for making them feel their feelings (my love language, if we're being honest). You're both the VIPs.</p><p>Fic title (and all chapter titles) from <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TCwNvTTsL8o&amp;ab_channel=MattNathanson">Matt Nathanson</a>.</p>
    </blockquote><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <em>Usually, David will take any excuse to put himself in Patrick’s space. This time, though, he stays where he is, though he does stop whatever he’s doing with the crab cakes. “So, your mom said something interesting to me earlier.” His voice is painfully neutral and with his back still turned, Patrick doesn’t have an expression to read.</em>
</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>On the very long list of things Patrick has been surprised to learn about David Rose over the last two years, the fact that he’s an aggressive sleep cuddler was one of the earlier ones. So it’s not unexpected when he wakes up the morning of his thirtieth birthday to feel David pressed up against his back, arms wrapped tight around him; what is unexpected is that those hands are roaming purposefully, as though David is already awake. David’s cock is pressing insistently into him and he rocks back into it, getting a sleepy chuckle and a soft kiss to the back of his neck in response. They fell asleep without getting dressed last night, and David’s bare skin against his own is enough to have him hard already.</p><p>“Happy birthday, Patrick.” The words are murmured into his skin, making him shiver.</p><p>“It certainly is so far.” He lets a grin spread across his face that David can’t see, pressing back again for good measure. David laughs again, almost drowning out the unmistakable click of the bottle of lube being opened, and Patrick sucks in a quick breath. He knows he put it back in the bedside drawer last night, which means David must have grabbed it this morning before cuddling back into him.</p><p>“How long have you been awake, David?”</p><p>David nudges his leg, changing the angle Patrick is lying on slightly before pressing a now-slick finger to his hole, not pressing inside but just teasing. “I may have set an alarm.”</p><p>“That might be the hottest thing you’ve ever done for me.” Patrick starts to laugh before stuttering into a moan as David finally pushes into him.</p><p>“Well if that’s true, I really need to step it up.” Before Patrick can respond David adds a second finger, working him open steadily and slowly; by the time he has three of David’s dexterous fingers inside him Patrick is panting hard, moaning so loudly he’s dimly aware that he’s risking another noise complaint but far past the point of being able to rein himself in. When David slips his fingers out he actually whimpers, but then the lid of the lube bottle is being flicked open again and he forces himself to wait, trembling, while David slicks himself up and then slides inside him in one smooth stroke. One of David’s hands works its way between Patrick’s body and the mattress to grip his hip tightly, and the other sprawls across his chest to hold him close as he starts to move.</p><p>They don’t have sex like this often and Patrick forgets how much he loves it — he’s all wrapped up in David’s arms, David’s breath hot in his ear so that every gasp and growl and whisper of his name is channelled directly into his brain. By the time he finally reaches down to wrap a hand around his dick he’s so close all it really takes is a few strokes and a muttered “That’s it, honey, come for me,” in his ear before he’s crying out, his orgasm rocking through him. David doesn’t slow down his relentless pace and Patrick brings the hand that’s not covered in come to place over David’s on his chest, trying to pull him even closer; with their bodies entwined like that it’s less than a minute before David is sinking his teeth into the soft flesh of Patrick’s shoulder as he comes.</p><p>They lie there for a moment, trembling and panting and tangled together, before David finally slides out of him with a soft grunt. And Patrick’s sweaty and sticky and full of come and he <em>knows</em> they should get straight in the shower, but it’s his birthday and his boyfriend just woke him up with some mindblowing sex so he’s pretty sure he’s justified in rolling over, ignoring David’s muttered protest about the state of the sheets to take his face in both hands and kiss him soundly. By the time they break apart David is looking gratifyingly dazed, and Patrick brushes a thumb under his cheekbone.</p><p>“I love you, David.” It comes out gentler than he intended, and a warmth spreads through his chest as the soft smile blooms across David’s face in return. Patrick can still remember the weeks — months, if he’s being honest — after he said those words to David for the first time; how every time Patrick said them the first expression on David’s face would always be something close to surprise, as though he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. He’s not entirely sure when that initial reaction fell away, but the easy acceptance he sees in David’s face these days puts him on much more solid footing.</p><p>“I love you too, but just because it’s your birthday doesn’t mean I’m changing the sheets if you insist on leaking all over them.” And with that romantic pronouncement David gets up, heading for the bathroom. It’s obvious that he’s well aware of Patrick’s eyes roaming the long lines of his body because his posture is ramrod straight, but he doesn’t look back or otherwise acknowledge Patrick in any way.</p><p>“Mind if I join you?” The question is, of course, rhetorical; he’s already carefully easing himself out of bed and following David into the small room where the water is running, filling the room with steam. David steps into the shower first and Patrick follows him quickly, pressing him into the wall for another long kiss.</p><p>“I don’t have time for this.” David’s words are incongruous with the way his arms snake around Patrick’s waist, pulling him closer. “I have to swing by the motel before I open the store.”</p><p>Well, that explains why David’s up so early, considering the store doesn’t actually open until ten on a Saturday.</p><p>“Are you <em>sure</em> you don’t want me to come into the store today?” David had been surprisingly insistent, even when Patrick had said the best birthday gift he could ask for was as much time as possible with his boyfriend, that he take the day off — but spending the day with the person he loves most in the world in the store they own together is hardly an imposition.</p><p>“I am absolutely sure.” David presses him gently away so he can step under the spray, reaching for the loofah and the body wash. “Watch some baseball, go for a hike. Do what makes you happy.”</p><p>“I think I did what makes me happy this morning.”</p><p>David is clearly torn between laughing and rolling his eyes at the terrible pun, but in the end he just shakes his head with an exasperated smile. “Pretty sure it was the other way around, actually.”</p>
<hr/><p>They end up leaving the apartment at the same time; now that David has put the idea of a hike into his head, it seems like the perfect way to spend the morning. He drops David at the motel with one last, lingering kiss before taking the now-familiar route up to Rattlesnake Point and hopes that even though it’s the weekend the trail will be relatively quiet — there are no other cars in the parking area, which is a good sign. Just as he’s pulling his pack out of the trunk of his car his phone beeps with a text from David.</p>
<p></p><div class="phone">
  <p class="messagebody">
<span class="header">David</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="time"><b>Today</b> 8:54 AM</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Apparently there’s a salmonella outbreak at the cafe. Probably best to avoid it today. Want me to bring you lunch? Stevie said she’d cover the store for a bit</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>I’ve got plenty of food but I’d like it if you came round for lunch anyway</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>It is my birthday</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Well, since it’s your birthday I guess I could</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>I’m about to head up the trail, won’t have phone service for a bit</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>I should be back before you, but if not do you have your key?</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Yep. Enjoy your hike!</span><br/>
</p>
</div><p>Buoyed by the prospect of seeing David earlier than dinner tonight, he starts towards the trail and soon realises he’s getting his wish; no one else appears as he sets a steady pace, feet finding their footing on the well-worn trail as he pushes himself just a little so that he’s breathing hard by the time he makes it to the ridge. The view over the valley is stunning in the morning sun, the trees tinged with gold, and he takes a moment to just soak it all in.</p><p>He’s come a long way in the last two years. A very different person used to hike this trail, trying to figure out why being around David Rose made him feel unsettled in a way he wanted to lean into rather than away from. He owes a lot to this place, the peace of it calming something he didn’t know was restless inside him, the expansive views granting him clarity over who he was and the courage to ask for what he wanted.</p><p>Maybe one day he’ll find a way to convince David to join him up here; to tell him what this place means to him.</p>
<hr/><p>He’s just unlocking his front door when his phone starts buzzing in his pocket; he pulls it out to see his mom’s name on the display, and he puts his hiking pack down beside the door before he accepts the call.</p><p>“Hey, mom.”</p><p>“Happy birthday, sweetheart!” Her voice sounds far away, a little echoey, and he realises why after a moment when his dad’s voice comes bursting through the speaker as well.</p><p>“Happy birthday, Patrick!”</p><p>“Thanks, guys.” He drops his keys on the shelf next to the door, unlacing his boots with one hand before kicking them off and pulling out a dining chair to sit on. The churning in his gut has been getting more pronounced each time his parents call lately; it’s becoming harder and harder to talk to them without making it obvious just how intertwined his life is with David’s, to say nothing of the guilt he feels every time his mom calls the store and David answers the phone.</p><p>“Do you have any special plans for tonight, honey?” There’s something in his mom’s voice he can’t quite read: excitement, maybe, or hope. She’s never come out and asked directly if he’s seeing anyone, though she’s danced around the topic a few times, which has saved him from lying.</p><p>He could tell them now. <em>Yes, actually. David’s taking me out to dinner, because he’s not just my business partner — he’s the love of my life.</em></p><p>It’s just not a phone conversation, that’s all.</p><p>“I’m not totally sure yet.” It’s true; David has been remarkably tight-lipped about where they’re going tonight, especially considering they’ve eaten at every restaurant in Elmdale at least once.</p><p>“Good, that’s good.”</p><p>Patrick blinks, even though his dad can’t see Patrick’s confusion over his comment. “It’s good that I don’t have plans for my birthday?”</p><p>“He just means it’s nice to go with the flow, honey.” There’s a short but noticeable pause before his mom continues. “Living in Schitt’s Creek… you seem to be more relaxed. Happier. We’ve noticed, that’s all.”</p><p><em>That’s because I finally know who I am, now.</em> “Well, you know, it’s a small town. Life moves at a different pace here. Less of those stressors.” The distinctive click of an indicator distracts him from whatever he was going to say next. “Are you guys driving somewhere?”</p><p>“Your father’s taking me on a weekend getaway.” It comes out rushed, but Patrick barely has time to wonder why before she continues. “Actually, sweetheart, we’re just pulling up to our motel now, so we’ll have to let you go. Have a wonderful birthday, Patrick.”</p><p>“Yes, we look forward to seeing you soon.”</p><p>Patrick knows his dad isn’t trying to make him feel guilty, and he finds himself glad it’s not a video call so they don’t see him wince. “Yeah, I’ll definitely have to figure out a good time to take a few days off, come up and see you guys.”</p><p>“Right, right.”</p><p>“We love you.” There’s an uncertainty these days, when his mom says that to him, that wasn’t there before he left. Patrick knows he’s responsible for that gap between them, and he hates it.</p><p>“I love you guys. Thanks for calling.”</p><p>He drops his phone on the table with a sigh after ending the call, his fingers brushing over the photo on his lock screen. Ray took it at the baseball game a few weeks ago, just after David hit his home run; Patrick’s arms are wrapped around him, their cheeks pressed together, wide smiles on both their faces as the team crowds in around them. It’s the sort of photo that might, in a pinch, be able to be passed off as team camaraderie and an excited hug in the midst of a win, but Patrick can’t see past the love and pride that bubbles up his chest every time he thinks of that moment.</p><p>He wants to be able to share this photo, and a hundred more little moments in his life, with his parents, without having to analyse it to death to figure out if his relationship with David is obvious first. He unlocks his phone, opening his messages app to read the last text he sent David before his hike: <em>Do you have your key?</em> David may not live here, officially, but he belongs here. He’s in the art prints on the walls and in the array of skincare products in the bathroom and in the headboard that was chosen for both its colour and for the bars that are so easy to tie a silk rope to.</p><p>There’s no part of his life and no version of his future that doesn’t have David Rose in it.</p><p>He’s determined. He’s going to take a few days off in the summer, and he’s going to drive up to see his parents, and he’ll tell them everything that David means to him.</p><p>A quick glance at the clock tells him he probably has enough time to shower before David comes back so he leaves his phone on the table and heads for the bathroom, stripping off his clothes quickly before stepping under the spray. It’s both a more efficient and a less interesting event without David’s body pressed up against him, which means that despite their shared shower this morning he manages to get all the sweat cleaned off his skin and even has time to wash his hair before the water runs cold. He doesn’t want to change again before dinner so after he’s towelled himself off he puts on the dark blue Levi’s that always make David make an appreciative noise in the back of his throat Patrick’s not sure he’s supposed to hear before pulling a shirt at random out of his closet.</p><p>He spends the next twenty minutes or so responding to well-wishes, and is just hitting send on a reply to his cousin Julie’s hilariously obnoxious gif when the sound of his front door opening alerts him to David’s arrival. He has a pizza box and a bouquet of flowers balanced in one hand and he says <em>Happy birthday</em> as though he didn’t already say it half a dozen times before he left earlier, and Patrick gets up to accept a hug and a kiss as though he didn’t get plenty of <em>those</em> this morning.</p><p>Not that he’ll ever get enough of being bundled up in David’s embrace, his arms wrapped around Patrick’s shoulders.</p><p>There’s something about David’s energy that Patrick can’t quite place; not his usual exuberance, but at once more tight-lidded and more frenetic. Patrick stumbles his way through the conversation, and he thinks he’s successfully skipped over any discussion of his parents, until:</p><p>“Speaking of your parents, I’ve been piecing together that I don’t think I've ever spoken to them outside of work. Is that weird?”</p><p>The klaxons start sounding in Patrick’s head. “Okay. I'm sure you… I’m sure you have.” But he’s not sure at all, fairly confident they’ve only spoken at the store in fact, and it’s so close to being the first direct lie he’s ever told David that his palms are sweating where he’s shoved them in his pockets.</p><p>“Like, they know about me, right?”</p><p>His mouth goes into assurance mode before his brain can catch up and tell it what a <em>spectacularly</em> bad idea that is. “Of course they know about you.” Which, again, is not technically a lie, even if he’s well aware of what David is actually asking. “What do you mean, what do you… why…?”</p><p>But David isn’t giving him an out — not that Patrick deserves one. “Like, they know about <em>us</em>, right?”</p><p>It’s the framing of the question that finally breaks him. It’s not <em>do they know about us</em>; it’s David <em>starting</em> from the premise that Patrick has told his parents about them, and seeking confirmation. The David of their early relationship — the one who thought that monthly anniversary gifts were tempting fate and double-checked about post-kissing doubts out of habit and freaked out the first time Patrick said <em>I love you</em> — would never have <em>assumed</em> that Patrick had gladly and proudly told people about them.</p><p>“Okay, listen, David…” He turns away as he starts, unable to face the look he’s sure will be on his boyfriend’s face, and by the time he musters up the courage to turn back David is sitting on the couch with his eyes squeezed shut, nodding quickly, the hurt unmistakable in his expression even though he’s clearly trying to hide it.</p><p>Patrick has messed this all up. <em>Badly.</em>

</p><p>He needs to fix it. He needs to explain.</p>
<hr/><p>Three minutes later Patrick is leaning into David’s shoulder, his mind spinning. Because he’s going to have to tell his parents not at some nebulous time in the summer but now, tonight, that he’s gay, that the business partner who reached out to <em>invite them to a surprise party</em> is not merely a caring colleague and friend but his boyfriend of close to two years.</p><p>And David has been… surprisingly okay. Far more forgiving than Patrick deserves, frankly; the offer to act as though he’s simply Patrick’s business partner for the night was an almost incomprehensible level of selflessness.</p><p>Patrick knows he has to fix this. He has to make sure David understands that it was never about him, that this was all Patrick and his overthinking and his avoidance. And step one of that is making sure that when he talks to his parents tonight, he makes it clear exactly how important David is to him.</p><p>“You should get back to the store.” His voice comes out hoarse even though he’s fairly confident he hasn’t been crying, and he clears his throat. “God forbid Stevie has to serve Roland.”</p><p>David shudders theatrically. “Ugh, can you imagine?” He pulls back far enough to sweep his eyes critically over Patrick’s face, his mouth pinched. “Are you sure you’re okay for me to leave?”</p><p>“Yeah, I’m good. I just need to figure out what to say to them. And how to act surprised by my completely unexpected party.”</p><p>David barks out a laugh. “From the way my mother waxes uncomfortably poetic about your acting skills I think you’ll be fine on that last one.” He stands up, collecting the pizza box from where it was abandoned on the counter when he walked in. “I’ll see you tonight?”</p><p>There’s something in the set of his shoulders that makes Patrick realise blurting out the <em>thank you</em> and <em>I’m sorry</em> sticking in his throat probably won’t be well-received right now, so he does his best to pour them into a goodbye kiss that leaves David breathing heavily instead.</p><p>“I’ll see you at the café, David.”</p><p>Once he’s alone in the apartment Patrick allows himself five minutes to indulge in the panic and the skin-crawling terror and the worst-case scenarios. And at the end of those five minutes he wipes his eyes, squares his shoulders, and starts to think about exactly what he wants to tell his parents.</p>
<hr/><p>When he walks into the café and sees everyone there, his parents front and centre, he almost panics. He has to force out the words he rehearsed in front of the bathroom mirror this afternoon — “Oh my gosh, David, I thought we were just having a casual dinner!” — but when he goes to give David a hug David backs away. An abundance of caution, Patrick supposes as he turns to give both his parents a hug instead, returning their greetings in a way he hopes makes it seem like he wasn’t expecting to see them.</p><p>“Can I just have two minutes with David?” But before the question is even out of his mouth David is shaking his head, face unreadable.</p><p>“Go talk to your parents, Patrick.” And there’s no way for Patrick to force the issue without making it obvious to his mom and dad that something is going on; with no way to communicate to David that what would soothe his nerves right now is a calming word and a squeeze of his shoulder he’s left with no choice but to nod, hoping his reluctance isn’t too clear in his face as he turns back to face them.</p><p>“Can we go sit for a minute?”</p>
<hr/><p>He doesn’t, in the end, say the exact words <em>I’m gay.</em> But he does tell them about David, which seems far more important anyway; it’s only once they’ve both reacted positively and he can finally breathe again that he risks a glance over to where the Roses and Stevie are gathered around the counter. He’s not completely surprised to realise they’re all watching the scene between him and his parents unfold — except David, who is the only one not looking their way and therefore the only one who doesn’t have to pretend to be looking elsewhere when they realise Patrick’s gaze has fallen on them. David is giving them privacy, he realises, and his heart swells with such love it must spill out onto his face because his mom gives his hand another squeeze.</p><p>He sits and talks with them for a while longer before they all get up to mingle. For some reason, Patrick just can’t seem to catch David; all he wants to do, now that his parents know what David means to him, is wrap his arms around David’s waist and bask in the weight that’s been lifted off his shoulders. But David is nothing if not a consummate host and every time Patrick gets close to him, something comes up that he somehow needs to slip away to.</p><p>It’s close to eleven by the time the party starts wrapping up, with people starting to yawn as they file out. His parents are deeply apologetic about leaving before everything is tidied up but Patrick waves them off; they had a five-hour drive to get here, after all, and besides, they had no idea what a gift their very presence would end up being. They make plans to have brunch tomorrow before they leave, and though Patrick can’t see David at that moment he’s confident enough in his boyfriend’s fondness for food that he feels comfortable saying that David will join them.</p><p>“That boy loves you an awful lot, you know.” His mom’s voice is unwavering, and Patrick wonders how she could possibly know that when he and David have barely interacted all night before the suspicion he had as he was telling them earlier crystallises in his brain. Because his parents seemed far less surprised by his announcement than he would have expected, and now his mom is speaking with authority on David’s feelings for him.</p><p>David did something to make this all okay, he’s sure of it. He doesn’t know what, yet, but something.</p><p>Eventually it’s just Patrick and David left in the room, and Twyla in the kitchen, music playing gently through the café speakers. David is over by the buffet table and Patrick just lets his eyes linger on him for a long moment, all the emotions of the day congealing until he’s left with one gelatinous blob of love and gratitude for the man in front of him who not only remembered a months-old, off the cuff comment Patrick made about surprise parties and threw him one even though Patrick knows David thinks surprise parties are tacky and incorrect, but he also gave Patrick — inadvertently, but still — the greatest gift he could possibly ask for: for his parents to know about him. About <em>them.</em></p><p>He is so, so goddamn lucky.</p><p>“David.” Patrick keeps his voice soft; something about the moment feels precious, though he can’t quite put his finger on how. “The party’s over, we can take care of the food in a minute. Come dance with me.”</p><p>Usually, David will take any excuse to put himself in Patrick’s space. This time, though, he stays where he is, though he does stop whatever he’s doing with the crab cakes. “So, your mom said something interesting to me earlier.” His voice is painfully neutral and with his back still turned, Patrick doesn’t have an expression to read. He’s not sure whether to brace himself for an unintentionally offensive comment or an embarrassing childhood story or perhaps just the kind of maternal effusiveness David isn’t really used to and might not know what to do with.</p><p>“Oh?”</p><p>The silence stretches out between them a moment longer before David finally turns around, and then Patrick’s heart leaps into his throat. David’s jaw is clenched and his eyes are glassy; he looks like he’s holding back a sob and Patrick has no idea what’s wrong but he aches to fix it. He takes a step forward but David holds his hand out defensively, effectively rooting Patrick to the spot.</p><p>“Patrick?” David’s tone is deliberately even, but there’s a waver underneath it maybe only Patrick would notice. “Who’s Rachel?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Every word was poetry rolling off our tongues</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <em>A dozen little moments, a hundred little moments, where he could have said something. Instead, he’d kept it all to himself, and he hadn’t realised he was building a house of cards out of the half-truths and the omissions and the technically-not-lies until the whole thing had come crumbling down around him.</em>
</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>The first time Patrick had thought about mentioning Rachel to David was before they were even dating; before Patrick had realised that the itching under his skin sending him up to Rattlesnake Point again and again wasn’t a general restlessness but a very specific one. Patrick had thrown himself into helping with the setup of the store now that he was officially on the paperwork as a partner in Rose Apothecary, but David had been tense all day and when Alexis waltzed in, claiming she was there to help but mostly just swiping samples whenever their backs were turned, David was even snippier with her than usual. Normally, Patrick found their banter entertaining but that day the atmosphere was genuinely tense, until David had finally snapped “Go choke on a cactus, Alexis!” and she’d left in a huff.</p><p>When the door slammed behind her, the glass pane rattling ominously, David had turned to him with a wince. “Um, sorry about that.”</p><p>“Nothing more heartwarming than hearing two siblings say <em>I love you.”</em> He’d meant it as a joke, but David had visibly flinched as he dropped his gaze to the box in front of him, fiddling uncomfortably with the flap. He’d looked so vulnerable that Patrick’s stomach had ached, and he’d had to grip the counter in front of him to stop himself walking over and pulling him into a hug. They didn’t know each other that well yet, then, and Patrick hadn’t been sure how a hug would be received — or why he’d wanted to give him one so badly.</p><p>“Yeah, we don’t… we don’t say that to each other.”</p><p>“Oh.” Patrick had tried to contain his surprise, but David had pressed his lips in a tight line so it obviously didn’t work. He’d tried valiantly to unwedge the foot that had seemed to be lodged in his mouth. “Well, I don’t have siblings, but that’s probably normal. Especially when you’re living together.”</p><p>He’d known it was the wrong thing to say as soon as David’s shoulders had hunched up. “No, it’s like… my whole family, my whole life. That’s just not something we say. Like, ever.”</p><p>Patrick had blinked. He’d known, from Ray and Twyla and just from being around David and Alexis, that the Roses could be a little… well. Dysfunctional was probably the right word. But still — he couldn’t imagine not telling his parents he loved them when he called, or them not saying it to him, even if they were still hurt by his decision to pack up his life and move all the way to Schitt’s Creek. “You’ve never said <em>I love you</em> to your parents?”</p><p>“I mean, I have. Like, twice.” David had shrugged, but the movement was stiff and Patrick was seriously regretting bringing this topic up at all, albeit unintentionally. “And once to Mariah Carey.”</p><p>Patrick had nearly swallowed his tongue. He’d learned over the previous few weeks not to trip over all the names David and Alexis were prone to dropping like it was nothing, but: “You dated Mariah Carey?”</p><p>“Oh, I wish.” David got a faraway look in his eye. “I sort of yelled it at her during a concert.” His gaze had snapped back to Patrick’s, wide and almost defiant. “But she heard me! She waved at me, so it totally counts.”</p><p>“Oh, I’m sure it does. And anyway…” Patrick had almost changed his mind about saying what he was thinking, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to resist David’s quizzical eyebrow. “Maybe you’ve got the right idea. Better to not say it unless you really mean it.”</p><p>The thing about David is that his face is always so <em>busy.</em> He’d make a terrible poker player, every thought and feeling broadcast across his features whether he intends them to be or not. Still, sometimes that means Patrick has been able to bear witness to moments like that one, when his expression just… softened. “That’s a very generous way of looking at it.” The tone was a little defensive, but there was a tiny smile playing at the corners of David’s mouth and Patrick had felt a knot loosen in his chest at the realisation that he hadn’t seriously upset his new business partner. Then the smile got wider, a little more teasing, and Patrick had braced himself. “So you just say it to your parents every time you talk to them, huh?”</p><p>Patrick had huffed out a laugh. “Guess I do, yeah.”</p><p>“Very Hallmark.”</p><p>“Nothing wrong with the odd Hallmark sentiment, David.”</p><p>David had just shaken his head. “If you say so.” He’d picked up a scarf out of the box and folded it carefully, his gaze fixed on the fabric in his hands as he spoke again. “What about… anyone else?”</p><p>Patrick had sucked in a quick breath. “To one previous… partner, yeah.”</p><p>He didn’t quite know, then, why he’d changed the word at the last second; why he didn’t say <em>girlfriend.</em></p><p>“Hmm.” David had looked at him for a long moment, but he didn’t say anything further. In the end, Patrick had been the first to drop his gaze, his eyes flicking back to the spreadsheet in front of him.</p><p>Maybe if he’d said <em>fiancée</em> instead of <em>partner,</em> David would have asked a followup question or two.</p>
<hr/><p>“You know what, we didn’t even get into your history.” David had laughed the words against his mouth, and Patrick had briefly considered telling him. David would understand, he’d thought; David had been understanding about so many things, from <em>I’ve never done that before with a guy</em> to <em>I’m going to need to take this a lot slower than a sleepover tonight</em> to <em>I just didn’t expect to be graced by the presence of two of your exes tonight.</em> He had been certain, absolutely certain, that David would be nothing but kind and generous, if Patrick were to say <em>my history is fifteen years, on and off, of trying to make it work with someone who is smart and beautiful and funny and, as it turns out, entirely the wrong gender.</em></p><p>But they’d had one night of privacy to make the most of, and David had been wearing a smile that took Patrick’s breath away, so it had seemed a much more prudent use of the unexpected night to themselves to laugh <em>lock it up, David, lock it up</em> and wrap his hand around David’s neck to pull him in for a kiss.</p><p>But given the awkwardness of the whole Jake situation, telling David about Rachel wouldn’t really have derailed their night together much further.</p>
<hr/><p>The morning of his and David’s four-month anniversary, Stevie had texted him a cookie emoji and a cry-laugh emoji at 8:53am which Patrick had assumed was code for <em>I delivered your cookie and David’s reaction was hilarious.</em> He’d grinned, making a mental note to buy her a drink and get the full story of David’s reaction out of her sometime that week, but when he’d exited out of the message chain Rachel’s name had been the next one under hers and his heart had started thumping a little louder, a little more guiltily. The week prior it had just been a string of letters that for the first time he’d ignored, but then a series of messages had come in from her the previous day. His original plan had been to ignore them too, but…</p><p>But.</p><p>Those last four months with David had been the happiest of his life, but Rachel was his best friend before she was anything else. He’d known that he hurt her when he’d left, but he had hoped a clean break would be good for both of them.</p><p>But it had been six months by then, and she’d had no explanation. So maybe it was only good for him.</p><p>Before he could talk himself out of it, he’d tapped her name and hit the call button. The phone had rung twice, three times, before she’d finally picked up halfway through the fourth ring.</p><p>“Patrick!” She’d sounded surprised, which was probably fair given that she’d sent Patrick over half a dozen texts in the two days prior and he hadn’t responded to any of them. “How are you?”</p><p>He’d tried to answer her, but something had been sticking in his throat. He’d cleared it before starting again. “I’m good, Rach. I’m really good. I’m sorry I haven’t answered your texts.”</p><p>There had been a slight pause on the other end of the line before she’d answered, her voice cautious. “That’s okay. We’re talking now, right?”</p><p>“Yeah.” It had occurred to him then, for the first time, that he hadn’t actually <em>come out</em> before — other than to David, who’d at least had <em>some</em> idea of his non-straightness given that they were tangled up naked in Stevie’s bedsheets when he’d blurted the words out. But when they started dating, no one had batted an eye and no one had asked him to label it; he was dating David, and then later he was David’s boyfriend, and that’s all the information anyone seemed to need.</p><p>“Patrick, I’m actually on—”</p><p>“I’m gay.” He hadn’t meant to cut her off but the words had come tumbling out of him almost without permission, slicing through the sudden silence between them.</p><p>“Um.” Through the phone, the shuddering inhale she’d taken had been full of static. “Sorry, what?”</p><p>“I’m gay.” Fifteen years of weight had been lifted off his heart as he’d said it, as he could finally give her an explanation for why they’d never worked. It might have been the truest <em>it’s not you, it’s me</em> in human history.</p><p>“Oh.” It had been a loaded syllable, but Patrick had given her the space to process the news. God knows <em>he’d</em> needed enough time to come to terms with it. “Did you know—”</p><p>“No. Or, not that. I knew <em>something</em> wasn’t right; I knew if I stayed we’d probably end up getting back together. But I didn’t know <em>why</em> it never quite fit until—” She didn’t need to hear that. “Until I came here.”</p><p>But she’s known him since they were kids; she knows that he slept with a nightlight until he was eleven and that he’s always wanted a surprise party and never had one and that he always cries at the end of <em>Fly Away Home</em>. He never was able to hide anything from her, and the next time she’d spoken her voice had been warm. “Did you meet someone?”</p><p>All the air had rushed out of his lungs. “We don’t have to talk about this, Rach.”</p><p>“Well, that’s a yes.” He could hear the laugh under the words, strained though it was, and he’d known they were going to be okay. “I hope he deserves you.”</p><p>“He does.”</p><p>Rachel had hummed, in that thoughtful way she’s always had when turning something over in her head. “You know, I saw your mom at the grocery store just last week. She didn’t tell me any of this.”</p><p>It had been Patrick’s turn to struggle to find words. “She, uh— they don’t—”</p><p>“Oh.” It’d been barely audible through the speaker, and yet somehow full of understanding. “Okay, well. That’s— I won’t say anything. You know that, right?”</p><p>Somehow, it had never occurred to him to be worried that she might out him to his family. No matter what, he’d never doubted that she’s a good person. “No, I know.” His words had been punctuated by the unmistakable sound of a truck rushing past, and he’d frowned even though Rachel couldn’t see him. “Are you driving somewhere?”</p><p>“Don’t worry, I pulled over.” It’s a well-worn argument between them, Patrick’s insistence that hands-free kits aren’t really any less distracting than holding your phone. “And… I’m heading home now, actually.”</p><p>“Okay.” It had still felt a little unfinished, but he hadn’t been sure what else he could say. “Drive safe, Rach.”</p><p>“I will. Thanks for the call, Patrick.” The line had dropped before he could return the farewell, and he’d placed his phone carefully down on the counter.</p><p>“That went well.” No one had been listening but the box of shampoo he had to unpack, but he’d said it anyway.</p><p>David had freaked out about the cookie when he came into the store, which of course had been Patrick’s intention; later, he’d found out from Mrs Rose that there was a barbecue he hadn’t been invited to and he’d bypassed all of David’s nervous fluttering about it to accept the invitation. Which is how he’d found himself manning a grill that was possibly as old as the motel they were set up behind while Mr Rose stood at his shoulder and tried very hard to sound like he knew what he was talking about.</p><p>They had all been tucking into the sliders he’d somehow managed to assemble despite Mr Rose’s interference when Alexis had rounded the corner, looking frazzled. “Um, thanks for waiting.” She’d slid in next to Patrick and grabbed a plate, spooning potato salad onto it almost angrily.</p><p>No one else at the table had seemed concerned, but Patrick had decided to brave the potential minefield anyway. “Everything okay, Alexis?”</p><p>She’d eyed him for a moment. “Actually, you know what? Stevie was no help, so I might as well ask you.” Stevie had snorted from behind him, and across the table the other three Roses had been engaged in conversation, so Patrick had figured he had nothing to lose.</p><p>“Sure, what’s up?”</p><p>She’d taken out her phone and lowered her voice. “So, I got this message from Ted and I need a second opinion before I reply. Keep in mind we haven’t seen each other in weeks.” She’d pushed her phone to him as though it was a covert drop, and Patrick had glanced down at the screen.</p>
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<span class="header">✨ Ted ✨</span><br/>
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<span class="time"><b>Today</b> 10:06 AM</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Ted: </b></span>I’m more of a bagel guy 😉 </span><br/>
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</div><p>“You think it was a tactic?”</p><p>Alexis had nodded, her ponytail bouncing. “I mean, people do that, right? Like, I’ve done that.”</p><p>Patrick had hesitated for a moment. “I mean, I don’t know Ted well enough to know if he’d do that. But, yeah.” He’d cleared his throat. “People do that. I have a friend who used to do that a lot.”</p><p>“Did it work?” Alexis’ eyes had been wide and hopeful, and Patrick had realised what was going on with a jolt. Of <em>course</em> Alexis was still in love with Ted. His heart had ached for her.</p><p>Still, he’d been determined to be honest. “It worked. Until the last time.”</p><p>She’d nodded again, slowly. “Thank you, Patrick.” Her eyes had narrowed as she’d looked him up and down, the scrutiny almost uncomfortable. “You know, you seem different. Lighter.”</p><p><em>I came out to my ex this morning</em> had hardly seemed like an appropriate thing to tell his boyfriend’s sister, especially when said boyfriend didn’t know, so Patrick had just shrugged with a small smile.</p><p>“Must be the power of a good slider.”</p><p>Alexis had smirked and replied with a boop on the nose instead of words, a sign of acceptance just as obtuse yet meaningful as David’s parents inviting him to a barbecue in November.</p><p>Later, as the sun was setting, he’d pulled out his guitar over David’s protests. He’d sung some John Cougar Mellencamp at Mrs Rose’s request, and had managed to remember a Taylor Swift song for Alexis, and then he’d looked David in the eye for just long enough to make him squirm before he’d started singing Wonderwall with such earnestness that it had made David laugh and cringe at the same time.</p><p>If he’d told David — maybe not that day, but the next day — that he’d come out to his ex, that the guilt of leaving her without an explanation was finally lifted, David probably would have been proud of him.</p>
<hr/><p>The first time they’d said <em>I love you</em> it had been a nothing day, and that’s what had made it special. All the big moments with Rachel had been wrapped into events: they said I love you for the first time on their six month anniversary, lost their virginities to each other on prom night, got engaged on her birthday. It had always felt like an expectation, a box to check off on the to-do list of their relationship. But with David, it had just felt right to him in the moment, so he’d grabbed him by the shoulders and he’d said it.</p><p>It had taken a couple of hours, but David had said it back.</p><p>Patrick had never been happier. When his mom had called the next day she’d commented on how cheerful he’d sounded, but he’d deflected by talking about how the store had had a really good week.</p><p>He’d wondered, briefly, if he should have told David that he wasn’t out to his parents yet. He’d known David would be understanding; he just didn’t want to burst the bubble they’d been in for the better part of two days, where they murmured <em>I love you</em> every time they passed each other in the store just because they could.</p><p>But it would have been a sensible time to do it.</p>
<hr/><p>The first time David had talked to Patrick’s mom on the phone, Patrick hadn’t actually realised until they were hanging up. It was the sound of his own surname that had caught his attention, and then his brain had rewound far enough to realise that David had signed off with <em>Thanks for calling, Mrs Brewer</em> and he’d almost dropped the jar of moisturiser in his hand as his palms had started to sweat.</p><p>“Uh, was that my mom?” Somehow the question had come out steady, with no hint of the panic clawing up his chest. One little slip from David, one little unassuming question from his mom, that’s all it would have taken for David to find out that his parents don’t know they’re together.</p><p>David had nodded, his lips pressed together, but not tight enough to hide the smile on his face. “She’s really nice. I think she liked me.”</p><p><em>If David told them, you wouldn’t have to.</em> The moment the thought had entered his head, Patrick had hated himself for it.</p><p><em>“I</em> like you.” It had been far easier to walk over to where David was standing, to wrap his arms around David’s waist, to pull him in for a kiss, than it was to say anything that might disturb the quiet joy his boyfriend had been radiating right then.</p><p>So he hadn’t said a word. Instead, he’d promised himself he’d talk to his parents soon, and then it wouldn’t matter.</p><p>Maybe it would have been awkward to tell David then, but at least he wouldn’t have been lying by omission.</p>
<hr/><p>When David had tried to send him out on a date with Ken, Patrick had been wrong-footed from the start. So when David’s argument for Patrick going on a date with another man had seemed to centre around <em>you’ve only been with me</em> Patrick had come exceptionally close to pointing out that he had been with someone for the better part of fifteen years and knew what he wanted out of a relationship, thank you very much.</p><p>That had hardly seemed like the time to drop that particular piece of information, though. His protest of <em>and like a handful of girls</em> had sounded weak even to his own ears, and it had been punctuated by David’s smirk.</p><p>“Okay, we’ve all been with a handful of girls. But I’m the only guy.”</p><p>Eventually, David had managed to convince him to call Ken. It hadn’t felt right, but it wasn’t until he was getting ready to leave that he’d realised he couldn’t go through with it — he’d spent half his life in a relationship that just didn’t fit. Now he knew what right felt like, he wasn’t going to let it go.</p><p>Maybe, if he’d told David about Rachel then, David would have understood that and not pushed him into calling a guy with weird shoes.</p>
<hr/><p>A dozen little moments, a hundred little moments, where he could have said something. Instead, he’d kept it all to himself, and he hadn’t realised he was building a house of cards out of the half-truths and the omissions and the technically-not-lies until the whole thing had come crumbling down around him.</p>
<hr/><p>Patrick has never truly realised just how casually David touches him until right now, when he’s holding himself deliberately out of reach. David had asked <em>who’s Rachel</em> and Patrick had whispered <em>my ex-fiancée,</em> and he’d watched as all of David’s barriers had come back up in real time. David had held up his hand, effectively cutting Patrick off from saying anything else as he’d packed up the remainder of the food without speaking. Twyla politely but firmly kicked them out of the café so that she could lock up and now they’re sitting on the steps, a cooler half-full of crab cakes between them and a couple of slices of birthday cake boxed up on Patrick’s lap.</p><p>Finally, Patrick breaks the silence. “David, I need to explain a couple of things.”</p><p>In the two years they’ve known each other, Patrick has never heard David laugh the way he is right now — it’s short, and sharp, and vicious. “Um, what would be the main one, do you think? Is it the part where you let me talk to your mom for <em>months</em> without telling me she <em>didn’t know?</em> How the fuck do you think I would have felt if I’d <em>outed you?”</em></p><p>“I—”</p><p>David cuts him off before he can get more than a word out. “Or is it the part where you were <em>engaged</em> and apparently never bothered to tell me?”</p><p>Patrick’s stomach is so twisted up he genuinely thinks he might be sick. “Which one do you want me to start with?”</p><p>“Start with Rachel.” David’s voice is colder than Patrick ever imagined it could be.</p><p>“Okay. Um, we got together when we were in high school, and we were on and off until I moved here. I don’t know, we always just sort of fell back into it. But no matter how hard I tried with her, it just never felt right and up until I met you, I didn’t understand why. I spent most of my life not knowing what right was supposed to feel like. And then I met you and everything changed.” His hands are shaking with the need to reach out and touch, but David’s too far away. All he can do is continue desperately. “David, I love you more than I ever thought possible. You make me feel right.”</p><p>“So <em>right</em> you couldn’t even tell me.” And Patrick deserves every bit of bitterness in David’s tone and then some, but that doesn’t make the way the knife twists in his gut hurt any less. “Have I ever lied to you? I mean, I’m sure I haven’t mentioned everyone I’ve ever been with, because I don’t even remember all of them, but have I ever <em>lied</em> to you? About my awful, shitty, embarrassing history?”</p><p>Patrick shakes his head, his throat too tight to speak.</p><p>“No. I haven’t. And it’s not like either of us was clamouring to spend our Friday nights discussing our exes, but someone you were with for half your life doesn’t even come up <em>once?</em> That’s deliberate.”</p><p>“I was ashamed, okay?” The words burst past his lips before he can think about them. “David, there was this huge, fundamental part of myself that I didn’t realise for <em>twenty-eight years.</em> I thought I was <em>broken.</em> And then I met you, and I understood — but that doesn’t change the fact that I spent a decade and a half trying to make it work with the same person, over and over, never understanding why I couldn’t just love her the way she deserved to be loved.” He presses the heels of his hands over his eyes, sucking in a shuddering breath. “Do you know how badly my parents tried to understand why Rachel and I kept breaking up? My dad would talk about how he and my mom resolved their fights, and my mom would remind me of all her great qualities as though I didn’t <em>know</em> she was wonderful, and I just—” He can feel the tears sliding down his face, but he can’t brush them away as quickly as they appear.</p><p>“People figure this stuff out when they’re teenagers.” His voice is dull, hoarse; he tries clearing his throat but all the remnants of the secrets he’s been keeping are lodged there. “I wasted half my life… I wasted half of <em>Rachel’s</em> life, because I couldn’t figure out this one simple fact about myself.”</p><p>“I <em>told</em> you.” David’s voice is shaking with barely controlled anger. “I told you, ages ago, that everyone has their own timeline for this stuff. Are you really saying you couldn’t tell me about your ex-fiancée, you couldn’t give me one little heads up of ’hey don’t mention our relationship to my parents if you’re talking to them’, because you’re mad at yourself for not figuring out you were gay earlier?”</p><p>All Patrick can do, when it’s laid out like that, is shrug helplessly.</p><p>“Why didn’t you just tell me the truth?”</p><p>It’s a question Patrick’s been asking himself since David came over to the apartment for lunch today. David had seemed fine then, if a little hurt, but the combination one-two punch of secrets being uncovered has clearly rattled him deeply.</p><p>He takes a deep breath in through his nose, trying to calm his heart rate. “Because this felt like the life I was always supposed to have.” Next to him David sucks in a sharp breath, and Patrick barrels ahead before he loses his nerve. “You and me, and our store, in this town where everyone knows that we’re together and doesn’t blink. And sometimes, when I think about my life before…” Another steadying breath. “Sometimes I realise how close I came to staying in it. How close I came to not knowing how happy I could be.” He grips the box in his hand so tightly it starts to crumple under his fingers. “I’m living my truth here, with you. And I just… didn’t want anything to disturb that.”</p><p>He finally risks a glance at David who is staring straight ahead, his arms wrapped around his knees. He looks so lost, and Patrick’s heart aches for him. “Mm. Well, my truth is that I am damaged goods.” The words come out slowly, each syllable a new sucker-punch for Patrick. “And this has really messed things up for me. And I think I need some time with it.”</p><p>“Some time?” Patrick hates how badly his voice cracks on the question.</p><p>David nods slowly. “I just, um. It’s a lot to process. So you should do brunch with your parents without me tomorrow.”</p><p>Patrick has no idea how he’s going to explain that to them, but that’s so far down his list of priorities right now he dismisses the concern as soon as it pops into his head. The store is closed on a Sunday, so there’s no reason they have to see each other, if David needs space.</p><p>“Okay.” He can barely force the word out through his lips and it comes out in a sort of choked whisper.</p><p>David stands up, brushing his pants off. “Goodnight, Patrick.”</p><p>“Do you need a ride back to the motel?” It’s Schitt’s Creek, and David will be fine, but something about the idea of David walking off into the dark on his own makes his stomach twist.</p><p>David’s jaw tightens. “Not from you.”</p><p>It’s not unexpected, and it’s not unwarranted. But it <em>hurts.</em> “I love you, David.”</p><p>He really thinks, for a moment, that David won’t say it back. When he does, it’s barely audible. “I love you, too.”</p><p>Patrick watches until David’s figure is swallowed up by the darkness and then he hauls himself to his feet. His legs are shaking with adrenaline and his shoulders are tight; it’s only once he’s standing that he realises they’ve been hunched up around his ears for their entire conversation. He hauls the crab cakes to his car, the birthday cake in his other hand, and it takes him two tries to hit the unlock button before he’s finally able to put the cooler in the back seat. He drives home in a daze, barely noticing the three flights of stairs he has to lug the cooler up, and drops it at the door as he kicks off his shoes. He pulls a fork out of the drawer and sinks down at the dining table with his cake, staring blankly at the bed. Was it really just this morning that David woke him up with whispered words and roaming hands? He feels like he’s aged years since then.</p><p>He manages to eat about half a slice of cake, somehow choking it down past the blockage in his throat. He forgoes a shower, instead stripping off his clothes and getting into his pyjamas before he crawls into the empty bed.</p><p>It’s not until his head is on the pillow that he finally lets himself cry in earnest.</p>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. I threw my phone out of the window tonight</h2></a>
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  <em>Somehow, David holds it together. He holds it together through Patrick’s parents’ earnest (god, he sees where Patrick gets it from) assurances that they have no problem with Patrick being gay. He holds it together through his dad’s stilted, bumbling attempt at smoothing things over. He holds it together as he leaves the Brewers’ room and his dad gives him an awkward smile before walking back to the office. He holds it together for exactly as long as it takes to get to his room, lock himself in the bathroom, and sink to the floor, and then he proceeds to fall apart.</em>
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</p><p>Somehow, David holds it together. He holds it together through Patrick’s parents’ earnest (god, he sees where Patrick gets it from) assurances that they have no problem with Patrick being gay. He holds it together through his dad’s stilted, bumbling attempt at smoothing things over. He holds it together as he leaves the Brewers’ room and his dad gives him an awkward smile before walking back to the office. He holds it together for exactly as long as it takes to get to his room, lock himself in the bathroom, and sink to the floor, and then he proceeds to fall apart.</p><p><em>Was it because we were so close with Rachel?</em> Mrs Brewer had asked, her face pinched with concern, and the only thought that has been echoing through his brain since is: <em>Who the fuck is Rachel?</em></p><p>He tries his best to remember the breathing exercises Twyla taught him during one of the yoga sessions he attended after his embarrassing panic attack when they first moved here. In through his nose, out through his mouth, until his heart has stopped racing — but it does nothing to stop the tears tracking down his cheeks or the way his arms are shaking where he’s wrapped them around his knees, the discomfort of the doorknob against his ear nothing compared to the tightness in his chest.</p><p>
  <em>Who the fuck is Rachel?</em>
</p><p>Someone significant enough in Patrick’s life that Mrs Brewer’s mind leapt to her immediately, considered her as a reason for Patrick not to feel comfortable telling them he’s gay.</p><p>Someone David has never, ever heard of before today.</p><p>He actually knows very little about Patrick’s romantic history. Their first night together, when Stevie had lent them her apartment, David had been so careful about checking in until Patrick had laughed and said <em>you know I’m not actually a virgin, right?</em> David had briefly considered giving him the pedantic lecture that can sometimes trip off his tongue too easily, about how virginity is a bullshit, harmful, reductive concept, but then Patrick had bodily pushed him down into the mattress and demonstrated <em>I’m gonna get the money</em> levels of confidence regarding having sex with another man for the first time.</p><p>Which… David probably shouldn’t think about right now, actually. He knows from past experience that heartbroken <em>and</em> horny is a recipe for disaster.</p><p>The point is, he knew Patrick had dated women. A handful of women, in his own words, but still. And he knew one of them had been serious enough to say <em>I love you</em> to, but he also knows some people are a lot freer with those words than he is. Alexis, to hear her tell it, has been in love with half the creeps she’s dated, and none of them ever lasted longer than a few months. And it has occurred to him, once or twice, that Patrick doesn’t really talk about his exes much, but David just sort of assumed that given that Patrick is gay, his attempts at dating or sleeping with women were the sort of embarrassing memories he didn’t want to dwell on.</p><p>
  <em>Who the fuck is Rachel?</em>
</p><p>She must be the one Patrick said <em>I love you</em> to, given Mrs Brewer’s immediate leap to her name. But if she was that big a part of Patrick’s life, then why has Patrick never once mentioned her?</p><p>He was okay at Patrick’s apartment earlier. He really was. Hurt that Patrick hadn’t told him he wasn’t out to his family, yes; but in the grand scheme of things, between an accidental outing and a party with far more surprises than initially intended, David had found it pretty easy to push that hurt down in favour of comforting his scared and nervous boyfriend. He figured it was something they could talk through later, hash out once the emotions of the day had worn off. So as soon as the store had closed he’d put together a gift basket that he hoped conveyed <em>I’m sorry you found out your son is gay this way, but the fact that he’s gay isn’t a bad thing and I hope you can accept him</em> — which was a lot to ask of a gift basket, in retrospect — and knocked on their door ready to fend off anything awful.</p><p>He’d barely had time to register his relief that their only concern was why Patrick didn’t feel like he could tell them when Mrs Brewer had asked <em>was it because we were so close with Rachel</em> and static had started ringing in David’s ears.</p><p>
  <em>Who the fuck is Rachel?</em>
</p><p>He hears the motel room door open, and then his sister’s voice calling out his name.</p><p>“I’m getting in the shower!” His voice comes out a little scratchy but Alexis doesn’t say anything, so he assumes the fact that his words were muffled by the door disguised the worst of it. He hauls himself to his feet, shaking the pins and needles out of his legs before he walks over to the shower and turns on the water. While he waits for it to heat up he strips off his clothes, catching a glimpse of his face in the mirror and immediately wishing he hadn’t; his eyes are swollen and red, not giving him a chance to pretend he hasn’t been crying. He reaches into the shower and turns the spray to cold before stepping in, letting the chill of the water take some of the heat out of his face as he tries very, very hard not to think about his conversation with the Brewers.</p><p>
  <em>Who the fuck is Rachel?</em>
</p><p>He just has to get through the party. He’ll get through the party, and then he’ll ask Patrick that exact question.</p><p>By the time he finally steps out of the shower and inspects his reflection, he’s relieved to note he doesn’t look like he spent the better part of an hour panic-crying; at most, it looks like he ran the shower too hot instead of too cold and left his cheeks a little red. It’s only once he’s drying off that he realises that in his haste not to let Alexis see him, he jumped into the shower without grabbing anything to change into.</p><p>“Fuck.” Wrapping a towel around his waist he flings open the door, only to breathe a sigh of relief when he realises Alexis isn’t in the room. He can hear voices next door and, assuming Alexis is talking to their parents, he rifles quickly through his drawers to grab underwear and a t-shirt before blindly yanking a pair of pants and a sweater out of the closet and fleeing back into the bathroom. It’s only once he’s locked the door behind him again that he looks down at the clothes in his hand and winces.</p><p>Given everything that’s happened today, he would not have picked this particular Givenchy sweater if he’d been thinking clearly. But before he can head back out Alexis is banging on the door, complaining that he’s taking too long, and he knows that trying to change it for something else will only lead to a thousand prickly questions from his sister that he’s not up to answering right now. He gets dressed slowly, raking his eyes over the backwards lettering in the mirror.</p><p>
  <em>I believe in the power of love.</em>
</p><p>He’s not totally sure he does, right now.</p>
<hr/><p>David puts his years of finding out he’d been dumped via TMZ or Perez Hilton or at a party he was hosting to good use that night. He grits his teeth and smiles as the guests arrive, not giving any indication of the bile rising up in his throat every time he thinks about what else Patrick might be hiding from him. He leads everyone through a rehearsal of <em>happy birthday,</em> and then modifies that to <em>surprise</em> when it proves too difficult for some people. And when there’s a shuffling at the front door to alert everyone to the fact that Patrick is outside he melts back into the crowd, letting Mr and Mrs Brewer take pride of place to greet him.</p><p>Patrick’s gaze seeks him out immediately. “Oh my gosh, David, I thought we were just having a casual dinner!” His eyes are sparkling, clearly wanting to share the joke with David that he’s been rehearsing that reaction all afternoon, but as Patrick steps forward with his arms outstretched David backs away. If he lets Patrick hug him right now, he’ll cry or scream or yell or maybe all three. And he can’t do any of those yet.</p><p>Concern flickers over Patrick’s face for a moment before he turns and embraces his parents instead. When he steps back, he glances between them and David with an expression full of nerves. “Can I just have two minutes with David?”</p><p>David shakes his head. He doesn’t want two minutes right now. Two minutes is not going to be enough to answer the question still clanging around in his brain. “Go talk to your parents, Patrick.”</p><p>Patrick’s face falls, but he nods before pulling his parents away to one of the booths. David finds himself at the counter, his family and Stevie all not-so-surreptitiously watching as Patrick talks to his parents, but David keeps his gaze determinedly fixed on the drink in his hand.</p><p>It proves surprisingly easy to avoid Patrick for the rest of the night, even though it’s pretty obvious Patrick is trying to catch him. He flits between groups, playing the consummate host, and makes up a question to ask Twyla or George whenever he can’t see another escape route. He gets through the whole party this way, forcing zhampagne down a tight throat and pretending everything’s fine.</p><p>When the Brewers leave, Mr Brewer gives him one of those half-hug, half-handshake hugs before Mrs Brewer wraps him up in an embrace so utterly <em>maternal</em> he nearly breaks down right there. He holds it together, though, and he hugs her back. It’s not her fault that she left <em>who the fuck is Rachel</em> running around in his head all night.</p><p>After all, Patrick lied to them, too.</p><p>David busies himself with packing up the leftover food until everyone has left except for the two of them and Twyla. And then Patrick is asking him to dance, and he can’t avoid the conversation anymore.</p><p>There’s a tiny part of him holding out hope that he’s wrong; that there’s some logical explanation that might make more sense than Patrick not telling him about someone important in his life. All he’s managed to come up with so far is ‘Rachel is a homophobic family member’, but he knows deep in his gut that’s not it. He takes a steadying breath, trying to make the words come smoothly. “So, your mom said something interesting to me earlier.”</p><p>“Oh?”</p><p>There’s a little nervousness in Patrick’s tone, but nothing that makes David think he knows why David is upset. He braces himself and turns around only to find Patrick looking at him, eyes warm with concern; he runs his eyes over David’s face and whatever he sees there makes him take a step forward, but David holds out a hand to keep him at bay.</p><p>He forces the question out from his tight throat. “Patrick? Who’s Rachel?”</p><p>Patrick’s eyes go wide and his jaw drops; he clamps his mouth shut and swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing as he does, before parting his lips again. When he speaks, it comes out in a whisper. “My ex-fiancée.”</p><p>The word rattles around his brain. <em>Fiancée. Fiancée. Fiancée.</em></p><p>Patrick was <em>engaged?</em></p><p>They’ve talked about marriage, albeit very much in the abstract; thinking about it too much makes David nervous in that sort of pre-birthday, <em>thinking about what I want will make it even more disappointing if I don’t get it</em> sort of way. But they did talk about it, about how it’s something they both want, and not once during that conversation did Patrick mention that he <em>almost got married once before.</em></p><p>“David—”</p><p>David thrusts his palm forward wildly and Patrick obviously understands the gesture, because he stutters into silence as David turns back to the crab cakes and starts shoving them into the cooler with a little more force than strictly necessary. He has no idea what Patrick’s doing behind him, and he doesn’t care.</p><p>
  <em>Fiancée. Fiancée. Fiancée.</em>
</p><p>“I need to lock up now, guys, I’m sorry.” Twyla’s voice is gentle and David’s sure she’s picked up on the tension between them, if not necessarily the reason for it. She hands Patrick a box. “Leftover birthday cake.”</p><p>Patrick clears his throat. “Thanks, Twy.”</p><p>Patrick didn’t tell him about not being out to his family, and didn’t tell him about being engaged before they met.</p><p>What else hasn’t Patrick told him?</p><p>David picks up the cooler, shaking his head when Patrick reaches out as if to help, and they murmur their goodnights to Twyla as they head out the front door. As soon as the door is closed behind them David places the cooler on the ground and sinks down next to it with no consideration for how his pants will fare against the concrete, elbows on his knees. In his peripheral vision he registers Patrick sitting down carefully on the other side of the cooler, resting the box of cake in his lap.</p><p>
  <em>Fiancée. Fiancée. Fiancée.</em>
</p><p>He waits for Patrick to speak. To explain.</p><p>His chest aches.</p>
<hr/><p>He doesn’t look back at Patrick as he walks away from the café.</p><p>He can’t.</p><p>By the time he stumbles through the door to his room he can barely breathe, an invisible hand squeezing at his ribcage as the tears he spent the whole evening fighting back start to track unchecked down his cheeks. Alexis doesn’t look up from her magazine at his arrival, legs stretched out on her bed as she flips a page.</p><p>“I have to admit, David, that was actually a super-cute party.” She glances up before her gaze freezes, dropping her magazine onto her lap as she takes in the state of him. “David? Oh my god, what’s wrong?”</p><p>He doesn’t know how to begin explaining, so he finds himself repeating her own words from years ago back at her in a raspy voice. “I think I need a hug or something.”</p><p>She stands up, magazine falling unheeded to the floor as she winds deceptively strong arms around him. “Okay.” Her voice is gentle in his ear. “It’s okay, David.”</p><p>He buries his head in her shoulder, and he sobs.</p>
<hr/><p>He doesn’t get out of bed on Sunday.</p><p>He doesn’t know what Alexis tells their parents, but they leave him alone.</p>
<hr/><p>He’s woken up on Monday morning by a loud knocking. He glances over at Alexis’ bed but finds it empty, and he groans as he pulls off the covers and stumbles over to the door, yanking it open to reveal Stevie holding a bouquet of flowers not quite large enough to hide her smirk.</p><p>“Wow, what did Patrick do to piss you off enough that he sent you these?” She’s laughing as she asks the question, but David feels his whole body crumple in on itself and he slides to the floor just as her face shifts from amusement to genuine concern.</p><p>“David, what the fuck?”</p><p>He ends up blurting out the whole story to her right there on the stained motel carpet, his body shuddering with sobs. At some point Stevie sits down opposite him, the two of them crammed in the doorway and the flowers sitting just inside the room as she takes his hands in hers and squeezes tight. When the words dry up she just wraps him in a hug as he cries into her flannel shirt, grateful that it’s sturdy enough to withstand the assault.</p><p>When he finally pulls away, his head is pounding and his throat feels like it’s on fire. “Fuck.” He scrubs a hand over his face, knowing it will do absolutely nothing to fix the mess he’s sure his face is right now. “I have to get to the store.”</p><p>“I’m sure Pa— I’m sure he can cover the store, if you need some time.” Stevie scowls. “Sounds like the least he could do, if we’re being honest.”</p><p>The noise David makes could maybe, very generously, be called a laugh. “You can say his name.”</p><p>She sniffs. “Maybe I don’t want to.”</p><p>David chews at the cuticle under his thumb, a habit he broke years ago.</p><p>“I don’t want to see him yet.”</p><p>Stevie nods. “Then don’t go in today.”</p>
<p></p><div class="phone">
  <p class="messagebody">
<span class="header">Patrick</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="time"><b>Today</b> 9:19 AM</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>I’m not coming in today</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Thank you for the flowers</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>Of course, David. Take all the time you need. I’m here whenever you’re ready.</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>I love you so much</span><br/>
</p>
</div><hr/><p>On Tuesday there’s a wine bottle sitting on the table when he wakes up. Even from his bed he can see that it’s real champagne, no z anywhere in the name. </p><p>There’s no note, but he knows where it came from.</p><p>He’s still not ready to face Patrick, though.</p><p>He pulls the covers back up over his head.</p>
<hr/><p>Wednesday starts with Stevie not even bothering to knock before she barges into the room.</p><p>David scowls at her. “What if I was naked?”</p><p>“Have you seriously forgotten that I’ve seen all that before?” She thrusts a box into his hands. “Here.”</p><p>David blinks down at what she handed him, the logo of the chocolatier in Elm Glen stark against the white box. But… that doesn’t make any sense. They don’t deliver; David knows they don’t deliver, because he actually looked into getting Patrick sent some for his birthday. Which means—</p><p>“You’ve seen him?”</p><p>Stevie eyes him warily, but she nods. “He gave me those at rehearsal last night. Said I wasn’t allowed to give them to you until this morning.”</p><p>David clears his throat, blinking back the tears that have been just below the surface all week. “How is he?”</p><p>“Do you want me to answer as your friend or as his friend?”</p><p>“Um.” David swallows. He needs to know. “As his friend.”</p><p>“Dude, he’s <em>wrecked.”</em> She blows out a harsh breath. “I’d be shocked if he’s slept more than five hours total since Saturday. He was almost in tears when he gave—”</p><p>“Stop.” He didn’t know it was possible to hurt more than he already was, but thinking about Patrick suffering aches somewhere deep behind his sternum, the same place he used to feel it when he was waiting for a call from some embassy or other to say Alexis was safe. And besides: “He was the one that lied.”</p><p>“I know.” Stevie’s face is more serious than he can ever remember seeing it. “I know he did, David. He knows how badly he fucked up.”</p><p>David fiddles with the flap on the chocolate box. “I don’t know if I can face him yet.”</p><p>“So don’t.” Stevie shrugs. “Wait until you’re ready.”</p><p>“Out of curiosity, what was your answer if I wanted you to tell me as my friend?”</p><p>Stevie looks him straight in the eye. “That he looks exactly how he <em>should</em> feel.”</p>
<hr/><p>On Thursday Alexis comes in from her run with a jewellery box in her hands.</p><p>“This is for you, David.” She’s been walking on eggshells with him all week and even now, her voice is uncharacteristically serious. “Do you want it?”</p><p>David’s surprised by how much of him wants to say <em>no.</em> If he’d ever thought about it, which he’s never had any reason to, he would have thought it would feel nice to be chased like this; for someone to want him so badly they would shower him with gifts to get his attention. And yes, part of that is certainly nice. But given the choice, he’d happily trade in all of this for the open and honest relationship he thought he had a week ago.</p><p>“Sure.”</p><p>Alexis bites her lip as she hands it over, and then tactfully removes herself to the bathroom to give him privacy.</p><p>He flips open the lid and sucks in a breath. It’s a beautiful bracelet, but more to the point it matches the chain necklace he sometimes wears beautifully.</p><p><em>He sees you for all that you are,</em> David’s mom told him once. Even now, with what’s starting to seem like a permanent knot in his stomach, he doesn’t doubt that.</p>
<p></p><div class="phone">
  <p class="messagebody">
<span class="header">Patrick</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="time"><b>Today</b> 9:07 AM</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>We should talk</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>But not at the store. Too many interruptions.</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>Why don’t we go out to Elm Valley for dinner tonight? That Italian place that just opened up a couple of weeks ago?</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>Or you can pick. Whatever you want, David.</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Italian’s fine. Pick me up at 7?</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>See you then. I love you.</span><br/>
</p>
</div><hr/><p>Patrick arrives in his navy blazer, the first date blazer, and David manages to muster up a teasing remark about it even though the sight of Patrick sends about eight hundred contradictory emotions rushing through him; love and anger and fear and worry. Stevie was right; he looks terrible. Then again, David’s hardly his best self right now either.</p><p>Patrick leans in to kiss him, more unsure than he’s been since literally the second day of their relationship, and David lets him. Lets him, and tries not to overanalyse the way the simple brush of Patrick’s lips against his own makes him want to burst into tears.</p><p>It’s a quiet drive out to Elm Valley. Patrick has been texting him in the evenings, full of apologies and explanations David hasn’t known how to respond to. Neither of them quite seem to know what to say now they’re face to face again, and for maybe the first time ever Patrick isn’t singing along to the music pumping softly out of the speakers. By the time they get to the restaurant, David is no closer to untangling the knot in his stomach.</p><p>Patrick doesn’t say much until they’ve ordered, but once the server has left the words start tumbling out of him as though he can’t stop them. How sorry he is, how David can take all the time he needs to process, that he’s willing to answer any questions David has, that he understands how betrayed David must feel. The only thing David can think to say is <em>it’s okay</em> and it really isn’t, so he stays silent and lets his gut churn as Patrick apologises, over and over and over. It only stops when their meals arrive; David pushes his sleeves up slightly so they’re not at risk of getting sauce on them, and Patrick’s eyes alight on his wrist as the very corners of his mouth turn up into a tiny, hopeful smile.</p><p>“I see you liked the bracelet.”</p><p>“I loved the bracelet, thank you.” He clears his throat. “But this isn’t something you can fix with wine and chocolates.”</p><p>Patrick’s eyes are round and serious. “I know. David, I know. I’m going to do whatever you need, for me to make this right, okay? Anything.”</p><p>David’s hands are fisted so tight around his silverware his hands are starting to ache. “I don’t know how you can fix this.” Perhaps it’s too honest, but if he’s learned anything these last few days, it’s that being too honest is preferable to the alternative.</p><p>“That’s—” Patrick breaks off, clearing his throat. “That’s understandable. I’m going to keep trying, okay? I know I messed up. I don’t ever want to make you feel like this again.”</p><p>David just nods slowly.</p><p>The problem is, he can’t think of a single thing that will make this right.</p><p>Patrick drops his gaze to his plate. “And you know, we have the open mic night scheduled for next week.”</p><p>“This isn’t something you can fix with an acoustic rendition of Tina Turner!” The words burst out of him, far louder than he intended, and he sinks down in his seat to avoid the curious glances being sent their way.</p><p>Patrick’s mouth snaps shut, his jaw tight as he swallows hard. “I know that, David. I wasn’t— I know.”</p><p>They finish their dinner in silence. Patrick picks up the check and David doesn’t even bother trying to pretend he wants to offer to pay, hovering awkwardly by the door until Patrick catches up with him.</p><p>About halfway through the drive back, Patrick reaches out hesitantly and places his free hand on David’s knee. David lets him, but it’s not the comforting gesture it used to be.</p><p>Their goodbye outside the motel is stilted. Patrick takes David’s face in both hands, but the kiss he gives him is almost unbearably gentle.</p><p>“I love you so much, David.” His voice breaks. “I love you. I don’t know if I can ever tell you how sorry I am.”</p><p>David closes his eyes. “I love you too.”</p><p>It’s not a lie. But it doesn’t feel like enough.</p>
<hr/><p>On Friday, David comes to a decision.</p><p>He asks Stevie to drive him to Elmdale, and he begs her not to ask any questions.</p>
<hr/><p>Stevie is still parked exactly where he left her when he steps out of the building a little over half an hour later. He grips the manila folder in one hand as he opens the door with the other, sliding into the passenger seat, but it’s only after he’s fastened his seatbelt that he turns to look at her, the greeting dying on his lips as he takes in her red-rimmed eyes.</p><p>“Um—”</p><p>“I know what you were doing.” Her voice is hoarse but determined; she’s gripping the steering wheel so tight her knuckles are turning white, even though she hasn’t even turned on the ignition yet.</p><p>David’s stomach sinks. “I told you not to—”</p><p>“You told me not to ask you questions. You didn’t say anything about looking up the address of the building.”</p><p>“Wasn’t aware I needed to close that particular loophole.” He knows he’s scowling at her and he doesn’t try to rein it in even though he can’t really fault her; if the positions were reversed, he’s sure he would have done the same.</p><p>She starts the car, flicking on the indicator as she pulls out carefully, and they get all the way to the outskirts of Elmdale before she speaks again. “So what’s the plan here, David?”</p><p>He stares out the window, biting his lip. “He gets first right of refusal to buy out my half of the store; it’s in our partnership agreement.” When he’d read that clause David had assumed he’d be the one buying Patrick out when he inevitably got too sick of having David as a business partner, or maybe wanted to go back to the more reliable paycheck he got working for a financial firm. For a long list of reasons, he’d never imagined this.</p><p>“First right of— David, he doesn’t <em>know?”</em></p><p>David lets his silence answer for him.</p><p>“Wow. Okay. And what exactly is your plan if he doesn’t want to buy your share?” Her voice is icier than he’s heard it in a long, long time, and he shrugs.</p><p>“I’ll find a buyer. You? Alexis? Maybe dad wants to diversify, I don’t know. Otherwise one of the vendors might be interested. It’s a good investment.” His breath hitches involuntarily. It’s a good investment because Patrick has been so meticulous with their numbers, their budget. Their store.</p><p>Not <em>their store</em> anymore. Well, as soon as Patrick — or someone else — signs the paperwork he’s currently clutching in his lap.</p><p>The silence stretches out again. When Stevie speaks again she no longer sounds angry. Just resigned.</p><p>“You’re going back to New York, aren’t you.” She doesn’t bother framing it as a question.</p><p>“I can’t stay here. Seeing him… it <em>hurts,</em> Stevie. I’ve tried and tried to forgive him for this.” A tear slips down his cheek involuntarily, and he scrubs it away angrily. “But I can’t do it.”</p><p>Beside him, Stevie’s voice breaks. “Why do you want to go back to a place that’s done nothing but hurt your feelings?”</p><p>A bitter laugh escapes his throat before he can rein it in. “Because if I’m going to be lied to, I might as well do it somewhere that has Postmates and proper bars.”</p><p>They don’t speak again for the rest of the drive. When they finally pull into the motel parking lot Stevie parks the car and takes a deep shuddering breath, her eyes fixed on the steering wheel she’s clinging to like an anchor.</p><p>“I don’t want you to leave me here.” Her voice is small, wavering; he knows how much the sincerity must be costing her.</p><p>He lets himself cry, then. “I can’t stay.”</p>
<hr/><p>Alone in his room, David methodically packs up a box with all the (non-perishable, not edible) gifts Patrick has given him over the last two years. He places the folder the lawyer gave him on the top, and the last thing he does is take out his key ring, unhooking his key to Patrick’s apartment before placing it in his pocket, separated from the rest. Then he picks up the box, squares his shoulders, and walks out of the motel and towards Patrick’s apartment.</p><p>It’s not a long walk, though certainly longer than it used to take to get to Ray’s, and yet his feet are heavy on the pavement by the time he’s standing outside Patrick’s building. He has to force himself up three flights of stairs, his pulse rushing in his ears by the time he knocks on Patrick’s door.</p><p>When the door opens, Patrick’s face goes from tired to lit up when his gaze lands on David. Then his eyes drop, taking in the box in David’s hands, and David has to focus very hard on getting his legs to keep him upright as the understanding sweeps over Patrick’s expression; as Patrick’s heart basically shatters in front of him in real-time. And this was never a test or a game, but it’s only now that he realises maybe there was a tiny part of him that came here prepared for Patrick to fight for him, to beg him to stay. But Patrick just shoves his hands as deep into his pockets as they’ll go, his face frozen, and that’s when reality slams into David with such force his breath catches in his chest.</p><p>“Um.” He hates how badly his voice cracks. “You get first shot at my shares of the store, so if you want to buy me out the paperwork is on the top there. The lawyer’s details are all inside. If not, let me know so I can find another buyer.”</p><p>Patrick shakes his head. “I’ll buy you out, David.” His voice is low and gravelly, but that doesn’t hide the way it’s shaking. “It’s the least I can do.”</p><p>“Okay. Um, good.”</p><p>“What—” Patrick chokes back something that sounds a lot like a sob before starting again. “What are you going to do?”</p><p>David can’t keep up this eye contact any longer; he drops his gaze to the ground between them. “I’m going back to New York.”</p><p>Patrick is silent for a long time. “Oh. Of course, yeah. That’s— that’s where you always wanted to be, right?”</p><p>“Yup.” <em>But only if you were with me.</em> He almost shoves the box into Patrick’s hands before pulling the spare key out of his pocket. “This is yours, too.”</p><p>Patrick puts the box down gently before he holds his hand out. When David places the key in his palm Patrick wraps his fingers around David’s, their palms pressed together. Despite everything, it still feels like coming home; before he quite realises what he’s doing he presses Patrick back into the doorframe, his free hand wrapping around Patrick’s neck as he pours all the emotion swirling around inside him into one final kiss. Patrick, for his part, tugs David in close, his fingers winding through David’s hair as he shakes under David’s touch.</p><p>When David finally pulls away he can see Patrick’s cheeks are wet with tears, and he knows his are too. He doesn’t know if they’re his own or Patrick’s or both.</p><p>Patrick stares at him, his tone helpless. “You’re the love of my life, David Rose.”</p><p>David closes his eyes as his resolve almost breaks. When he opens them again, Patrick’s face is blurry and indistinct in front of him as he tries not to let more tears fall. “No one is ever going to love me the way you did.” The words are choked out, but when Patrick opens his mouth to reply David shakes his head to stop him. “But no one ever lied to me like you did, either.”</p><p>Patrick closes his eyes, his voice barely above a whisper. “I know.”</p><p>“Goodbye, Patrick.” He turns to leave, hoping the mental image of strong, capable, determined Patrick standing in his doorway looking broken isn’t as seared into his brain as it feels like it might be right now. He doesn’t look back, not even when he hears the murmur from behind him.</p><p>“Goodbye, David.”</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Get myself away from here</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
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  <em>It’s just plain bad luck, in the end, that the day David tells his family he’s moving back to New York is also the day Alexis announces she’s going with Ted to the Galapagos Islands.</em>
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          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A huge thank you to nontoxic who answered all my NYC questions for this chapter because I haven't been in four years! (Even though we had a long discussion about the gentrification of Brooklyn and then I rewrote a huge chunk and David didn't end up going there lmao)</p><p>(Also, this chapter pushes me over 300,000 words published. In... 7 months and 1 day. Why am I like this 😂)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
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</p><p>It’s just plain bad luck, in the end, that the day David tells his family he’s moving back to New York is also the day Alexis announces she’s going with Ted to the Galapagos Islands.</p><p>He waits until the money from the buyout hits his bank account before he says anything. While he’s waiting he pretty much stays in the motel, not wanting to run into Patrick — or worse, someone like Ray or Jocelyn who would break him with over-exuberant condolences. Between them, Stevie and Alexis keep him fed and remind him to shower and generally make sure he does something other than hide in bed and cry all day.</p><p>His dad doesn’t say much, but mom’s quiet pity is somehow far harder to deal with than the histrionics he might have expected; after a couple of days, Alexis starts somehow managing to keep her occupied in the evenings. When he thanks her for this, though, she gives him a strange, tight-lipped smile he doesn’t have the emotional bandwidth to try and interpret right now.</p><p>It’s a few days before the money arrives. Seeing the last two years of pouring his heart and soul into the store reduced to a few zeros on his screen makes his stomach twist uncomfortably, causing the tears that have been building behind his eyes for days to slip down his cheeks. It’s an amount he wouldn’t have blinked at in his old life, but it’s enough to let him land on his feet in New York.</p><p>This is all he has left of Rose Apothecary, now.</p><p>It’s all he has left of Patrick.</p><p>He waits for Alexis to come home before telling everyone he’s moving, but when she does burst through the door Ted is on her heels and he hesitates. Then <em>she’s</em> calling their parents into the room, and announcing that she’s going to some turtle saving island or something; as their mom and dad are digesting this news, his mom asks David how he feels about <em>your sister absconding to some foreign locale and leaving you here</em> and David blurts out that she’s not leaving him here, actually, because he’s moving too.</p><p>And that’s when all hell breaks loose in room eight.</p>
<hr/><p>A long time later, after his mom has finished haranguing them both with a verbal thesaurus opened on the word <em>abandonment,</em> after his dad has slipped out of the room with a sorrowful eyebrow, after Ted has made a semi-graceful exit, they’re both lying in bed. The room is shrouded in darkness, and David is squinting to try and make out the stain on the ceiling in lieu of sleep when Alexis breaks the silence, her voice a lot smaller than David can remember hearing it in a while.</p><p>“I can’t believe you’re going back to New York, David.”</p><p>David can’t really believe it either. He can’t believe this is what he so desperately wanted less than three years ago, to the point where he almost blew up his friendship with Stevie over it. On the rare occasions he’s thought about New York in the last couple of years it’s been in relation to Patrick — taking him to see the city for the first time, making new memories, seeing it through fresh eyes. But that’s no longer on the table, and David swallows down the tears that are threatening to form thinking about it.</p><p>“Um, me? What about you? I can’t believe you’re going to the <em>Galapagos Islands.</em> What, are you going to become a turtle rescuer?”</p><p>“Mm, we haven’t really talked about exactly what I’m going to do there, actually? But I’m sure I’ll, like, keep myself busy.” There’s a hesitance in her tone that David hasn’t heard in a long time. He remembers the days when Alexis couldn’t keep still, forever jumping on a plane or a yacht to the next big adventure while David kept the embassy phone numbers for wherever she was bound for close at hand, just in case. But no matter what weird and wonderful place she was heading, she always sounded excited about it. Too excited, a lot of the time, but that was always Alexis — jetsetting off and leaving David to spiral about it.</p><p>“Um.” He’s not sure he’d ever ask her this in the light of day, but something about being in the dark invites confidences. “Do you actually want to go to the Galapagos?”</p><p>There’s a long silence from the bed next to him, long enough that he wonders if she’s actually fallen asleep before her voice finally slices through the dark. “I mean, it’s not my first choice? But this is, like, Ted’s dream or whatever. And, you know, I love him. So I need to go.” He hears her shifting in the bed and when he glances over, she’s rolled onto her side; he can just make out her eyes in the dark, fixed intently on his. “Do you actually want to go back to New York?”</p><p>“I mean, I have some friends left there. And I miss the culture.” It sounds weak, even to his own ears, and finally he heaves a deep sigh. “I don’t want to leave. But… I still love him. So I can’t stay.”</p><p>“David.” Before David has time to process what’s happening Alexis is slipping out of bed, and then she climbs in next to him and burrows under his covers with her arm wrapped around his waist. And it should feel weird and uncomfortable — and it kind of does, this is a small bed — but it’s also… sort of nice. They haven’t shared a bed since they were kids.</p><p>“I’m going to miss you, David.” The words are murmured into his shoulder, and David’s honestly not sure if he was meant to hear them but he feels the truth of them in his bones.</p><p>“I’m going to miss you, too.” He looks around the room he once found suffocating. “I’m really going to miss this place.”</p>
<hr/><p>Over the next week, David tackles the momentous task of packing up all his clothes. Stevie helps when she can, but she’s busy with the last few Cabaret rehearsals and, David suspects but doesn’t ask, spending time with Patrick. He’s surprised to find he doesn’t begrudge either of them their friendship; yes, they broke up because Patrick lied to him, but if he’s hurting even half as much as David is then he deserves someone to talk to about it.</p><p>Plus, he knows Stevie won’t go too easy on him, so that helps.</p><p>By the end of the week he has boxes that his family will ship to him once he’s found an apartment, and two bulging suitcases that will go to New York with him. He’s booked a place to stay for a couple of weeks while he gets his bearings — a Holiday Inn, of all things, in Chelsea, and it’s a sign of how much his life has changed since he was last in the city that far from being horrified at the prospect, the room he’s booked actually looks like it might be a step up.</p><p>It feels like half the town finds an excuse to swing by the motel in David’s last few days there. Jocelyn wraps him up in a tight hug and tells him she hopes he finds a good yoga partner. Bob stops by and tells him to appreciate having regular access to good bagels again, which makes his dad heave a sigh of frustration for some reason. Twyla brings him a basket of surprisingly delicious orange chocolate chip muffins and tells him she doesn’t know who else is going to use the caramel she stocked up on for his coffees.</p><p>Ronnie’s the only one who manages to make David cry. She doesn’t hug him, just looks him straight in the eyes when she comes to wish him luck with the move. “You want me to push him off the stage?”</p><p>David huffs out a surprised laugh. “I don’t think you want to deal with my mom’s reaction if you took out her lead less than a week before opening night.”</p><p>“Mm. You might be right. Still. I’d risk it, if you wanted me to.”</p><p>David shakes his head as tears spring up behind his eyes. “I don’t want—” The rest of the sentence is choked off by the sob rising up in his throat and quick as a flash, Ronnie grabs a couple of tissues from the box beside David’s bed and hands them to him. “Thanks.”</p><p>Ronnie pats him on the arm. “You’re going to be missed around here, David. I hope you come back.”</p><p>The words burst out of him before he can think about them. “I hope I can come back too.”</p><p>It’s only after he’s said them that he realises it’s true. Somewhere along the line, this became his town, and not just because his name is on the deed. He hopes that one day, the pain eating him alive every time he thinks about Patrick will have faded enough that he’ll be able to return.</p>
<hr/><p>He spends the night before his flight at Stevie’s apartment, the two of them sitting in a haze of smoke as they steadily make their way through a couple of bottles of wine Stevie must have picked up from his— from the store. He wonders if Patrick is still ringing her up with the friends and family discount, and then he has to wrench his thoughts away from the way every time David did it Patrick would tease him about profits and the possibility of an espresso machine, and then he’d run his fingers up David’s arm, fingers tangling gently in his hair as he leaned in for a kiss, and—</p><p>He takes another hit of the joint.</p><p>“I wish you were staying for the show.” Stevie’s voice is surprisingly clear considering how much alcohol they’ve put away in a reasonably short space of time, and when he turns to look at her he realises with a jolt that her eyes are shining with unshed tears. “I mean, I get why you can’t. But I really wish you were.”</p><p>David swallows. He can’t watch Patrick up on stage as the Emcee, not after watching him dance and sing his way around the apartment as he tried to nail the steps, not after David <em>helped him</em> with the hip thrusts required for the opening number, not after Patrick had sent him a photo from backstage the first day he’d tried his costume on and when he’d come home David had pounced on him, pinned him up against the wall—</p><p>He takes a long gulp from his glass.</p><p>“Alexis asked Ted if he could film a couple of your numbers to send me.” He musters up a grin for her. “Don’t you dare tell Mom.”</p><p>Stevie mimes zipping across her lips before staring down at her glass. When she speaks, the cautiousness in her tone makes David’s focus sharpen immediately. “If he came to say goodbye, would you see him?”</p><p>The words are like a punch in the gut. He doesn’t want to know if Patrick asked Stevie to ask him this or not; all he knows is just the thought of seeing Patrick again makes his stomach twist up.</p><p>“We already said goodbye. What’s the point of dragging it out?”</p><p>She leans against him, her hair fanning out on his shoulder as she exhales loudly. “Okay.”</p><p>They don’t say <em>I love you</em> or <em>I’ll miss you</em> or <em>you’re my best friend.</em> They don’t need to.</p>
<hr/><p>Getting dropped off at the airport in Toronto by his family is… chaotic. His dad is all choked up and keeps pulling him into a hug again and again, his mom is almost wailing, and Alexis is doing her best to keep them contained while also saying her own goodbyes.</p><p>“Just think, they’ll be doing this all again for you in a couple of weeks.”</p><p>Alexis pulls back from their hug at the words to glare at him, the effect slightly mitigated by the tear slipping down one cheek. “Mm, will they though, David?”</p><p>Before David can reassure her Alexis manages to convince their parents it’s time to leave, obviously realising it’s going to be much easier for David to get checked in without his mom’s fingernails digging crescents into his arm. With one last flurry of hugs and kisses and tears, they’re heading for the door, and David watches them for as long as he can before he turns back to the check-in counter.</p><p>It’s time to go.</p>
<hr/><p>He spends his first two days back in New York reacclimating. He walks the once-familiar streets and takes note of what’s changed and what is exactly the same — although when he stumbles across a Target in Tribeca he has to just walk away in horror. He walks past art galleries with his old friends’ names on them and doesn’t go inside. He’s not sure he’s ready to face them yet.</p><p>This doesn’t feel like a triumphant homecoming. It feels like he’s crawling back in shame.</p><p>The next day he fields a hysterical call from his mom about a heart attack, and only finds out when he’s already in the cab to fucking <em>Newark</em> — the only place he could get a flight out of last minute — that it was just <em>heartburn.</em> Once he’s back in his room he cancels the ticket he purchased, decides that sitting alone in his hotel room yet again is too sad, and goes out. He walked past Bathtub Gin twice yesterday and was delighted to realise it’s still open; he used to love going there when he wanted something a bit quieter than the usual party scene, and their cocktails were always amazing.</p><p>It’s hardly changed at all inside, and it’s the first time since he arrived back in the city that he really feels like the ground is solid under his feet. He orders a Redhead Cosmo, wincing internally at the price — his bank account was much better served by a round at the Wobbly Elm, that’s for sure — and slides into a booth with his drink in his hand as he tries not to look as tragic as he feels, drinking alone on a weeknight.</p><p>It’s not until he’s halfway through his third cocktail of the evening that he hears a voice from behind him that makes him choke on his drink. Before he can think through the consequences he whips his head around, and the bottom drops out of his stomach when he finds himself making eye contact with none other than Sebastien fucking Raine.</p><p>Eight million people in this fucking city, and they run into each other? David is clearly cursed.</p><p>Before he can make a break for it Sebastien is waving off the person he was with and stalking over to David’s booth, sitting down on the seat opposite without so much as a by-your-leave. His eyes rake blatantly over David as David braces himself; they haven’t spoken since the morning David snuck out of his motel room with a destroyed memory card in his jacket pocket, and he has no idea what Sebastien’s reaction is going to be.</p><p>“David Rose.” Sebastien always had this way of making David’s name sound like something between a prayer and a curse, and this time is no exception. “I must say I’m surprised to see you back in town. And looking so…” Again with the sweep of the eyes. He was always good at making David feel on display. “Rural.”</p><p>He’s wearing a $1400 Gucci sweater, and Sebastien is an asshole. “I’m trying to enjoy my drink. What do you want?”</p><p>Sebastien raises his eyebrows in a facsimile of surprise. “I just wanted to say hello. After all, it’s not like we spoke much the last time we saw each other.”</p><p>David honestly can’t tell if he’s referring to the sex or the morning after. “There’s nothing to talk about. Didn’t I ruin all your plans for whatever you were going to do with my mom’s photos?”</p><p>To his surprise, Sebastien laughs. “You know, David, I think you did me a favour, actually.” He gives an affected little shrug; everything Sebastien does is a performance, and it makes David feel slightly sick to realise he ever fell for it. “Everyone here has basically forgotten about you and your family. Doing an exhibition focusing on your mother would have been a waste of my time and talents, in the end. So thank you.”</p><p><em>Asshole.</em> “Great, you thanked me. You can leave now.”</p><p>“Oh, David.” Sebastien shakes his head, his tone condescending. “You still haven’t told me why you’re in town. Did you need a break from all those drab landscapes?”</p><p>“Actually, I’ve just moved back.” The words are snapped out before he can think about what a spectacularly bad idea it is to tell Sebastien anything.</p><p>Sebastien’s eyebrows shoot up in what David thinks might actually be genuine surprise before his face settles back into his usual smirk. “Finally realised there was nothing keeping you in that <em>quaint</em> little town, huh?”</p><p>David wondered once or twice, early in their relationship when the memory of Sebastien’s visit was still fresh, what would have happened if Sebastien had turned up in Schitt’s Creek <em>after</em> he and Patrick started dating; if Patrick’s open and honest affection would have translated, somehow, into Sebastien actually understanding why someone else might find David worthy of their undivided attention. But thinking about the way Patrick always wore his heart on his sleeve for David hurts too fucking much, and he shoves the visual away just in time for Sebastien to lean over, running a finger up the sensitive skin on the inside of David’s arm with an ugly smirk on his face.</p><p>“We always had fun, David.” Once, that low purr made David weak at the knees; now it just makes his skin crawl. He yanks his arm away, but Sebastien just laughs.</p><p>“Did we?” Even when David thought they actually had something, he can’t remember it ever being <em>fun.</em> Though toying with him for months probably was fun for Sebastien, actually.</p><p>“Of course we did.” He leans over the table, his voice dropping to almost a whisper. “I’d like to have fun again, David.”</p><p>David presses himself as far back as he can. “Not interested.”</p><p>Sebastien just looks at him, disbelieving. “You say that now.” He gets up, looming over David in the booth. “I’m sure you’ve still got my number, David. Call me when you get bored.”</p><p>David watches him cross the room, going back to the people he arrived with, before he hauls himself out of the booth on shaking legs to order another drink.</p>
<hr/><p>When he wakes up the next morning, awareness comes back to him by degrees.</p><p>First, it’s the pounding in his head reminding him of two unfortunate truths: he still can’t handle his fucking gin, and he can’t bounce back from a hangover in quite the same way he used to be able to. He has to actively concentrate to swallow past the dryness in his mouth and he feels like maybe he’s been sweating during the night with the way the sheets are clinging to his skin, which, ugh.</p><p>Next, he blinks his eyes open. He still wakes up expecting to see the motel room and Alexis’ unmade bed, so the fact that he feels out of place when he opens his eyes doesn’t immediately register as a problem. It takes a few seconds for his sluggish brain to catch up, to tell him this isn’t his Holiday Inn room either, and an old habit from years ago kicks in — he starts trying to scope out as much of the room as he can without actually moving. It looks more like a bedroom than a hotel room, with a robe draped over the bathroom door and a slightly beat-up closet in the corner.</p><p>Then the bed shifts behind him and David freezes as parts of the night before come rushing back to him. Bathtub Gin. Redhead Cosmos.</p><p>Sebastien.</p><p>Oh, god, please let him not have—</p><p>“Morning, sunshine.” The words are spoken in a decidedly non-Sebastien voice, and David lets out a long breath as his stomach unclenches. He rolls over slowly, his head objecting to even that slow movement, and finds a woman perched on the side of the bed with one perfectly groomed eyebrow raised at him. She’s fully dressed, which David is just now realising he definitely isn’t, but the way her hair is professionally swept up on top of her head does nothing to hide the dark bruise between her neck and shoulder that she’s clearly tried to cover up with concealer.</p><p>“Yeah, thanks for that by the way.” She’s smiling as she says it, though, clearly catching where his eyes had fallen. “Looking forward to hearing about that all day.”</p><p>“Sorry?”</p><p>She laughs. It’s a warm laugh, and David suddenly has a flash of that laugh in his ear last night… somewhere? Somewhere dark, and loud. He can’t remember leaving Bathtub Gin; doesn’t remember coming home with this woman at all.</p><p>“Don’t be.” Her voice jolts him out of his attempt to piece the evening together, and when he looks back at her she’s raking her eyes over him appreciatively. He remembers Sebastien doing that, last night, and it felt a lot grosser than this. “We had a good time. But I do kind of need to get to work, so…”</p><p>“Right, sure.” This part he’s well-practised at. He slips out of bed and finds his underwear and pants in a heap on the floor, pulling them on and trying not to wince at how wrinkled the pants are. His t-shirt is lying beside them so he tugs that over his head, and casts his eyes around the room until he spots his sweater on the top of her dresser. His socks and shoes are by the door, clearly kicked off haphazardly, and he checks his pockets to make sure his phone and wallet and room key are all there.</p><p>“Okay, well. Thanks…” Fuck. He was kind of hoping some sort of muscle memory from last night would kick in, but it doesn’t, and now he just looks like an asshole.</p><p>“Kyla.” She tilts her head at him. “You don’t remember last night at all, huh?”</p><p>David winces. “Sorry.”</p><p>She shrugs lightly. “I’d probably be more offended if I hadn’t seen how many polar bear shots you put away at the club. To be honest, I’m kind of impressed that you’re standing.”</p><p>He doesn’t know how to tell her that the sweet teasing makes him homesick, so he doesn’t bother trying. “You and me both.”</p>
<hr/><p>By the time he makes it back to Chelsea the fog in his head has cleared a little, and he plugs his dead phone into its charger without waiting for it to turn on before taking a shower. Stepping into the shower is a relief after walking home in yesterday’s clothes, but when he turns so the water is hitting his back he hisses at the surprising tenderness of the spray on his skin and whirls back around as quickly as he can. He thinks he knows the cause of the pain, but it’s only after he’s washed his hair and has stepped out into the steamy bathroom that he’s able to check in the mirror and confirm that there are nail marks raked down his back.</p><p>The first time he asked Patrick to mark him up Patrick’s eyes had gone all wide, worrying his lip between his teeth. <em>I don’t want to hurt you, David,</em> he’d said and David had nearly cried, which was pathetic, but no one had ever said that so plainly in bed before.</p><p>They’d started slow — Patrick holding his wrists a little tighter, leaving red marks ringed around them; gripping the flesh of his hips so hard as they fucked that there were finger-shaped bruises left behind. And he’d been able to see how much David liked it, and they’d spurred each other on.</p><p>David brings one shaking hand over his shoulder, tracing the angry red line left by one of Kyla’s fingernails, and he swallows back a sob.</p>
<hr/><p>His phone is ringing when he steps out of the bathroom, Alexis’ name flashing on the screen, and he yanks the charger out of the bottom of it as he answers.</p><p>“Hi, what?”</p><p>“Um, rude, David.” They’ve texted since he left but haven’t spoken, and he’s knocked straight off his feet by the rush of homesickness that barrels through him at the sound of her voice. He sinks down onto the bed, still dressed in nothing but a towel, and closes his eyes. “I’ve been trying to call you.”</p><p>“Mmkay, well, you know I’m not really a morning person.” It’s not like he <em>can’t</em> tell her he spent the night with someone. He just… really doesn’t want to.</p><p>“Okay, well, whatever. I found you somewhere to live.”</p><p>“You— what?” He hasn’t really started looking for somewhere more permanent yet, though he did intend to start today. Or maybe tomorrow. It just all feels very overwhelming. “What do you mean, you <em>found me somewhere to live?”</em></p><p>“Okay, you remember Klair?”</p><p>David has no idea why she expects him to remember any of her friends. “Who the fuck is Klair?”</p><p>“Ugh, David!” He can almost hear her stomping her foot, and it makes him laugh even as the tears spring to his eyes. “Klair! She came to Schitt’s Creek, like, the beginning of last year?”</p><p>It takes a minute for his still-hungover brain to catch up. “Wait. The one who came into my store and told me it was <em>tragically provincial?”</em> He doesn’t register exactly what he’s saying until it’s already out of his mouth, but Alexis politely skips over the words <em>my store.</em></p><p>“Ew, probably. Klair’s the worst, but her dad’s place is empty, so.”</p><p>David blinks. “And she’s just going to… let me stay there?”</p><p>“The thing about Klair is that she literally does not care.” He can picture Alexis rolling her eyes and his chest aches with missing her. “She said she can meet you there this afternoon, if you want.”</p><p>“I don’t— why?”</p><p>“Um, I told you, David. Klair doesn’t care.”</p><p>David clears his throat. “No, I mean — why did you find me a place to stay? I could sort it out myself.”</p><p>Alexis huffs. “Okay, just because it’s not a new passport, or coloured contacts, or a wig, doesn’t mean—”</p><p>“Oh.” Whatever David had been expecting, it wasn’t that. He’s so used to taking care of Alexis, it never occurred to him that she might want to reciprocate. “Um. Thank you.”</p><p>“So should I tell her yes?”</p><p>David thinks about it for a moment. He doesn’t want to owe anything to any of Alexis’ awful friends, but he wants to go solo apartment hunting even less. “Sure.”</p><p>“Yay, David! I’ll text you the details, okay?”</p><p>David nods before remembering she can’t see him. “Sure. Hey, it’s opening night tonight, right?”</p><p>“Mm-hmm.” She huffs a breath into the phone. “Stevie is, like, super-nervous, poor thing. And—” She stutters to a stop, and David’s heart flips.</p><p>“Go on, say it.”</p><p>Alexis clears her throat. “I was just going to say Patrick’s pretty anxious too.”</p><p>David squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. “Okay, well, good luck.” He hesitates. “To— to the whole cast, I guess.”</p><p>“Um, it’s break a leg, David.” She’s clearly gearing up to say something else, and David waits her out. “Should I… pass that on?”</p><p>David desperately wants to say <em>yes,</em> but not as much as he wants to text Patrick himself — to say <em>good luck,</em> to tease him about how much fun he’ll have wearing his crotch suspenders in front of the whole town. But it’s a slippery slope.</p><p>“Just to Stevie.”</p><p>There’s a long silence before Alexis’ voice comes through the speaker again, and when it does, it’s disappointed. “Okay, David.”</p>
<hr/><p>He makes his way out to the Upper West Side that afternoon, Alexis’ instructions on his phone. When he arrives at the address he was given Klair is standing on the steps, oversized sunhat obscuring her features.</p><p>“David, babe!” She leans over as he arrives, giving him an air kiss that lands several inches away from his face. “Oh my god, let’s show you the place so we can get you the hell out of a <em>Holiday Inn,</em> you poor thing.” She makes an exaggerated pout at him, but before he can respond she turns and heads for the door and all David can do is follow in her wake as she takes him on a house tour full of stories about people he’s never met or doesn’t remember until they finally come to the end in the master bedroom.</p><p>“I really appreciate this, Klair.”</p><p>She turns to face him. “Oh babe, it’s no big. My dad’s ex-wife used to live here, but there was this whole thing with some barista or something, can you imagine? Anyway, she’s gone to live with him so this place is just, like, empty. You being here saves me having to come all the way up here to check for squatters or whatever.”</p><p>“Right.”</p><p>“Um, what else do I need to tell you?” She looks around the room. “Oh, Marisol comes in on a Monday to clean. She’s got a key, so don’t even worry about her. Just, like, she’ll totally sweep up all your coke if you leave it on the bathroom counter so if you’re too poor to buy more or whatever, you might want to scoop it all up before she arrives.”</p><p>“I don’t do—” Somehow David suspects arguing with her will be pointless. “Sure, okay.”</p><p>She pulls a key out of her pocket and hands it to him. “Lex gave you my number, right? So just, like, call me if there are any problems. But don’t call me.” She punctuates this with a light laugh, an <em>I’m kidding but I’m totally not</em> laugh. David’s heard that laugh plenty of times in his life, from plenty of people.</p><p>“Thanks, Klair. I really appreciate it.”</p><p>She waves him off. “Any friend of Lex’s. Or brother, I guess.” With one last air kiss she’s heading for the front door, and then David is alone to look around without Klair’s chatter in his ear.</p><p>It’s a beautiful house, if not really his style. As he walks through he glances up at the high ceilings, the art on the walls that looks like so much of the art he used to display in his own galleries, the austere furniture. He tries to tell himself he never thought he could feel at home in Schitt’s Creek once.</p><p>Somehow he doesn’t think it’s going to work out quite the same. But this is his life now, and the only option he has is to make the most of it.</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Broken hearts and souvenirs</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>An epistolary interlude.</p>
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  <p class="textfield">From: alilbitalexis@gmail.com</p>
  <p class="textfield">Subject: Cabaret</p>
  <p class="textfield">To: davidrose@gmail.com</p>
  <p class="textfield">Sent: 30 Jun 2018 10:43</p>
  <p class="textfield">Attached: <span class="attach"> <span class="u">IMG_0041.MOV (120 MB) </span></span> </p>
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  <p>So, I don’t know if you’ve heard from Mom or Dad but the Crows movie got shelved and Mom’s crying in the closet. Suuuuuuuuuper sucks for her but at least it was just Dad and me at the motel when we got the call — Ted had already left to catch his flight :(  I miss him already, it’s been so weird here without you and it’s even weirder now he’s gone too. But in a week I’ll be heading to the Galapagos, yay! Just got to get through the rest of this show run first. I’m not even sure Mom’s going to come tonight, to be honest. Dad had to feed her through the closet door this morning.</p>
  <p>Anyway, I thought you’d want to see that video of Stevie but please tell me how you’re doing! Is Klair’s dad’s place going to work out for you??</p>
  <p>Lots of love,<br/>
Alexis xoxoxox</p>
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<span class="header">Stevie</span><br/>
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<span class="time"><b>Sat, 30 Jun,</b> 11:19 AM</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>OMG miss Sally Bowles! Alexis sent me a video. You looked and sounded AMAZING.</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>Thanks</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>Now I just have to do it… six more times</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>No pressure right???</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Well best wishes to you</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>Warmest regards</span><br/>
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<span class="time"><b>Sun, 1 Jul,</b> 2:41 PM</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Johnny: </b></span>Hi David it’s your father here</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Johnny: </b></span>Your mom got some bad news about the crows have eyes and she’s been in the closet for two days</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Yeah, Alexis told me</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Have you tried asking her to sing welcome to cabaret?</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Johnny: </b></span>Alexis tried that first thing this morning</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Oh. Then I’m all out of ideas sorry</span><br/>
<span class="readreceipt"><b>Read</b> 3:09 PM</span>
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<span class="header">Alexis</span><br/>
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<span class="time"><b>Mon, 2 Jul,</b> 7:23 AM</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Alexis: </b></span>Happy birthday David!!!!!!! 🎂🥳🎈🎉🎁</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Ew did you have to send this so early?</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Alexis: </b></span>Um YOU ARE WELCOME</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Thank you Alexis……….</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Alexis: </b></span>See, that wasn’t so hard was it?</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Alexis: </b></span>Got any hot plans for your birthday?</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>I plan on popping a pill crying a bit and falling asleep early</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Alexis: </b></span>Um that’s a bit sad David. GO OUT.</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Yeah maybe</span><br/>
<span class="readreceipt"><b>Read</b> 7:47 AM</span>
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<span class="time"><b>Mon, 2 Jul,</b> 7:55 AM</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Johnny: </b></span>Hi David it’s your father here</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Johnny: </b></span>Many happy returns son</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Thanks dad, how’s mom</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Johnny: </b></span>Still in the closet I’m afraid</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Johnny: </b></span>I wouldn’t expect to hear from her today</span>
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<span class="header">Stevie</span><br/>
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<span class="time"><b>Mon, 2 Jul,</b> 8:46 AM</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>Congrats on continuing to age</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>First of all, rude</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Second of all, why do none of you respect the fact that I’m not a morning person?</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>Some of us have these things called jobs</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>Don’t know if you’ve heard of them</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>But they require us to get out of bed before 10am</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>You should try it sometime</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Ugh please don’t remind me I need a job when it’s my birthday</span><br/>
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<span class="header">Patrick</span><br/>
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<span class="time"><b>Mon, 2 Jul,</b> 10:00 AM</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>Happy birthday, David.</span>
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      <span>TMZ<span class="twVerified">✔</span><br/>
<span class="twHandle">@TMZ</span></span>
    </p></div><div class="twText"><p>How's this for a blast from the past? If you had 'David Rose shows his face again' on your 2018 bingo board you can go ahead and CROSS THAT OFF. He was spotted stumbling out of Playhouse around 3am looking a bit worse for wear. Welcome back to NYC David! (PS: does that mean we'll be seeing your sister sometime soon?)</p></div><br/><div class="twStats"><p>
      <span class="twTime">05:23 AM • Jul 3, 2018</span>
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<span class="header">Stevie</span><br/>
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<span class="time"><b>Sun, 8 Jul,</b> 4:19 PM</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>OMG you’ll never guess what your sister did</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>???</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>Somehow she booked her ticket to the galapagos for 7th August instead of 8th July</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>Your dad drove her all the way to Toronto and then all the way home again</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>He is PISSED</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Oh my god it’s the Kate Winslet thing all over again</span><br/>
<span class="readreceipt"><b>Read</b> 4:52 PM</span>
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<span class="header">Alexis</span><br/>
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<span class="time"><b>Sun, 8 Jul,</b> 6:22 PM</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Alexis: </b></span>So, change of plans! I’m actually not leaving for another month!</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Stevie already told me you fucked up your flight booking</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Alexis: </b></span>IT’S AN EASY MISTAKE DAVID!!!!!!!</span>
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      <span>Interflix<span class="twVerified">✔</span><br/>
<span class="twHandle">@Interflix</span></span>
    </p></div><div class="twText"><p>Big news coming soon! Caw caw! 😉</p></div><br/><div class="twStats"><p>
      <span class="twTime">08:31 AM • Jul 10, 2018</span>
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<span class="header">Mom</span><br/>
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<span class="time"><b>Tue, 10 Jul,</b> 9:03 AM</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Moira: </b></span>Even though you abandoned me in this backwoods hamlet I thought you might like to know that mummy will be on the interflix twitter account today</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>I thought you said social media was a breeding ground for clinical narcissists</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Moira: </b></span>Don’t be jealous, dear, it doesn’t become you</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Moira: </b></span>I’m already going viral</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Okay this I’ve got to see</span><br/>
<span class="readreceipt"><b>Read</b> 9:18 AM</span>
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      <span>Interflix<span class="twVerified">✔</span><br/>
<span class="twHandle">@Interflix</span></span>
    </p></div><div class="twText"><p>You heard it here first! <span>#TheCrowsHaveEyesIII</span> will be streaming EXCLUSIVELY on Interflix from 27 July. We’re CROWing about it! To celebrate, Dr Clara Mandrake herself (Moira Rose) is running our Twitter account for the rest of the day!</p></div><br/><div class="twStats"><p>
      <span class="twTime">12:00 PM • Jul 10, 2018</span>
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<span class="twHandle">@WineAndCatGal74</span></span>
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      <span>replying to </span>
      <span>@Interflix</span>
    </p></div><div class="twText"><p>OMG I’m obsessed with Moira Rose!!!! I have all of Sunrise Bay on DVD. Please tell me you’ll be doing a livestream!!!!!!! 🍷😸</p></div><br/><div class="twStats"><p>
      <span class="twTime">12:13 PM • Jul 10, 2018</span>
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      <span class="twTime">12:47 PM • Jul 10, 2018</span>
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<p></p><div class="twUser"><p>
      
      <span>Wine &amp; Cats<br/>
<span class="twHandle">@WineAndCatGal74</span></span>
    </p></div><div class="twReply"><p>
      <span>replying to </span>
      <span>@Interflix</span>
    </p></div><div class="twText"><p>Oh I can help with that! Check ur DMs 🍷😸</p></div><br/><div class="twStats"><p>
      <span class="twTime">12:49 PM • Jul 10, 2018</span>
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<span class="header">Stevie</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="time"><b>Fri, 13 Jul,</b> 10:19 AM</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>Emergency</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>I need you to help me put together an outfit</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Oh thank god finally</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Well first of all nothing flannel</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>I haven’t even told you what it’s for yet</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>I still know the answer isn’t flannel</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>I have a job interview this afternoon and I need an outfit</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>You’re leaving the motel?????</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Wait you know what, I’m going to need to see your closet for this anyway. FACETIME ME.</span><br/>
<span class="readreceipt"><b>Read</b> 10:32 AM</span>
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<span class="header">Twyla</span><br/>
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<span class="time"><b>Fri, 13 Jul,</b> 1:33 PM</span><br/>
<span class="greply"><span class="hide"><b>Ted: </b></span>Hey Twy, hopefully this message gets through okay — internet is kind of SCALY here!</span><br/>
<span class="greply"><span class="hide"><b>Ted: </b></span>Listen, it’s mine and Alexis’ anniversary and I want to do something special for her. Any chance you could help me set up a date night for us tonight?</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Twyla: </b></span>Oh my gosh of course!!! Just let me know what you need and I’ll make it happen 🥰 </span><br/>
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<span class="header">Stevie</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="time"><b>Fri, 13 Jul,</b> 6:52 PM</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>I got offered the job</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Wow, congratulations</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Um that sounds very sarcastic through text but I do actually mean it</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>Now you have to hold up your end of our deal</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Do I though</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>David</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>Apply for some jobs already</span>
</p>
</div><hr/><h2>David Rose</h2>
<p>416-555-0115<br/>
davidrose83@gmail.com</p><h4>
  <strong>SKILLS</strong>
</h4>
<p>I am a customer service focused individual with extensive knowledge about various forms of art. I recently sold my thriving retail business in Canada to return to New York and am excited to return to a suitable position in an art gallery. </p><h4>
  <strong>EXPERIENCE</strong>
</h4>
<p><strong>Rose Apothecary, Ontario, Canada</strong> - <em>Owner/Operator</em><br/>
JUNE 2016 - JUNE 2018</p><ul>
<li>Identified, approached, and negotiated exclusive deals with a number of local vendors to rebrand their products and crafts under the store brand </li>
<li>Retail and customer service</li>
</ul>
<p><strong>The Blouse Barn, Elmdale, Canada</strong> - <em>Brand Manager</em><br/>
SEPTEMBER 2015 - DECEMBER 2015</p><ul>
<li>Reinvigorated a failing brand to breathe new life into the store</li>
<li>Retail assistance as needed</li>
<li>Negotiated a substantial settlement figure for purchase of the name</li>
</ul>
<p><strong>Rose Gallery, New York City</strong> - <em>Owner/Operator</em><br/>
APRIL 2006 - JANUARY 2015</p><ul>
<li>Arranged a number of successful and well-publicised art exhibitions </li>
<li>Bought and sold art for private collections </li>
</ul><h4>
  <strong>EDUCATION</strong>
</h4>
<p><strong>New York University, New York</strong> - <em>Bachelor of Arts (Art History)</em><br/>
GRADUATED 2005</p><hr/>
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<p></p><div class="twUser"><p>
      
      <span>Interflix<span class="twVerified">✔</span><br/>
<span class="twHandle">@Interflix</span></span>
    </p></div><div class="twText"><p>There was a time when the crows were our friends… <span>#TheCrowsHaveEyesIII</span> trailer has just dropped! Streaming EXCLUSIVELY on Interflix from 27 July. Watch now: <a href="https://youtu.be/aaLrxt8db-M">https://youtu.be/aaLrxt8db-M</a></p></div><br/><div class="twStats"><p>
      <span class="twTime">09:00 AM • Jul 18, 2018</span>
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<span class="time"><b>Wed, 18 Jul,</b> 11:23 AM</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>Well I’m quitting</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>Also, never fly Larry Air</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>What happened?</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>They wanted me to be a FLIGHT ATTENDANT</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>On a real flight</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Didn’t you just start???</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>Less than a week ago</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>Did you know they have 18 ongoing lawsuits?</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>One of them is FROM LARRY</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>That’s a big yikes</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>Luckily there’s a bottle of wine at home with my name on it</span><br/>
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<span class="time"><b>Fri, 20 Jul,</b> 4:19 PM</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>Hey, Stevie. Wondering if I could ask you a huge favour - I have to get my wisdom teeth out next Friday and apparently I need someone with me after because of the anaesthetic. I’m really sorry to ask, but any chance you could take me to my appointment on Friday morning and then hang out here for the afternoon? I can offer wine and snacks.</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>Yeah sure</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>Thank you so much</span><br/>
<span class="readreceipt"><b>Read</b> 4:42 PM</span>
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<p class="sticky"><span class="hide"><b>STICKY NOTE:</b></span><br/>
<br/>
<em><strike>Red carpet - Ronnie</strike><br/>
Get Ronnie to cancel red carpet - ugh!!!!!</em></p>
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<span class="time"><b>Fri, 27 Jul,</b> 6:06 PM</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>OMG DAVID</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>DAVID</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>GO TO THE INTERFLIX YOUTUBE LIVE CHANNEL RIGHT NOW</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>What the actual fuck??</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>What is happening????</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>This is fucked!!!!!!!</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>Alexis asked Roland to hook her up with some crows</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>ROLAND</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>I guess they weren’t trained which should be news to precisely no one</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>I’m so mad I’m not there this is fucking hilarious</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Wait why aren’t you there it looks like the whole town is there</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Not that I want you to be eaten alive by crows</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>Oh how generous of you</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>And I had to look after a friend after surgery</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>A friend</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>Yes, a friend</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>I have friends other than you, David</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>It’s Patrick isn’t it</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>Yeah</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>He got his wisdom teeth out</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>And I got to hear the words hungry hungry hippo more times than a grown man should ever say them</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Right</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>Want to hear what he said about you when he was high?</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>Sorry</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>That probably wasn’t fair</span>
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      <span>CWRK Local News<span class="twVerified">✔</span><br/>
<span class="twHandle">@CWRKLocal</span></span>
    </p></div><div class="twText"><p>Uh oh - it’s a crowpocalypse in Schitt’s Creek Ontario tonight! A publicity stunt gone very wrong - check out the video below!</p></div><br/><div class="twStats"><p>
      <span class="twTime">06:56 PM • Jul 27, 2018</span>
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<span class="header">Jake</span><br/>
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<span class="time"><b>Sat, 28 Jul,</b> 11:03 AM</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Jake: </b></span>Hey pony, want to come round for a drink tonight?</span><br/>
<span class="greply"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>Yeah sure why not</span>
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      <span>BuzzFeed<span class="twVerified">✔</span><br/>
<span class="twHandle">@BuzzFeed</span></span>
    </p></div><div class="twText"><p>10 Glorious Clara Mandrake Accidents <span>#TheCrowsHaveEyesIII</span><br/>
<span>https://bzfd.it/35wakZD</span></p></div><br/><div class="twStats"><p>
      <span class="twTime">11:11 AM • Jul 28, 2018</span>
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  <p class="textfield">From: alilbitalexis@gmail.com</p>
  <p class="textfield">Subject: Sooooooo some news</p>
  <p class="textfield">To: davidrose@gmail.com</p>
  <p class="textfield">Sent: 29 Jul 2018 11:09</p>
</div><div class="ebody">
  <p>David, I feel like we haven’t talked in FOREVER. How’s New York??? Did you go to Grimaldi’s yet? Or Sardelle’s?? I miss the FOOD David let me live vicariously through you.</p>
  <p>Anyway, small bit of news — I’m actually not going to the Galapagos after all. Ted and I agreed that I’d be miserable there, and my career is totally taking off right now after the Crows premiere which is super exciting. So we’re just going to keep doing the long distance thing for the next few months. Which kind of sucks, and I super miss him, but it sounds like there are a lot of really gross bugs in the Galapagos??? I can’t believe there’s somewhere I want to live less than here lol.</p>
  <p>Everyone here keeps asking after you. You should text a few of them back, David, everyone misses you. Including me, I guess.</p>
  <p>Lots of love,<br/>
Alexis xoxoxox</p>
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  <p class="textfield">From: office@focusfocusgallery.com</p>
  <p class="textfield">Subject: Re: Application for Gallery Assistant</p>
  <p class="textfield">To: davidrose@gmail.com</p>
  <p class="textfield">Sent: 30 Jul 2018 16:42</p>
</div><div class="ebody">
  <p>Hi David,</p>
  <p>We appreciate your interest in Focus Focus Gallery and the time you’ve invested in applying for the Gallery Assistant opening.</p>
  <p>We ended up moving forward with another candidate, but we’d like to thank you for talking to our team and giving us the opportunity to learn about your skills and accomplishments.</p>
  <p>We wish you good luck with your job search and professional future endeavors.</p>
  <p>Best,<br/>
Ashley Browne<br/>
Focus Focus Gallery</p>
</div><hr/>
<p></p><div class="letter">
  <p class="innerletter"><span class="hide"><b>NOTEPAD:</b></span><br/>
IDEAS FOR THE STORE<br/>
- <strike>Open mic night?</strike> (can’t face it right now)<br/>
- Advertise - get a spot on Ray’s podcast?<br/>
- Look into farmers markets in the greater Elms - new customer base, expand online sales<br/>
- Talk to Alexis re: PR/marketing assistance<br/>
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<span class="header">Alexis</span><br/>
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<span class="time"><b>Tue, 31 Jul,</b> 5:02 PM</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>Hey Alexis, I was wondering if I might be able to hire you for some PR stuff with the store. Our numbers have just gone down a bit over the last couple of months, so probably just need a bit of a kickstart with some marketing strategies</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Alexis: </b></span>Oh my god, of course!! Let me know when a good time is to come into the store when it’s not too busy and we can totally chat about it!</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>Honestly? Right now basically any time is “not too busy”</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Alexis: </b></span>Woof, that does not sound good</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Alexis: </b></span>I’ll be in first thing tomorrow morning</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>See you around 11 then?</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Alexis: </b></span>😘 </span>
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<span class="time"><b>Wed, 01 Aug,</b> 6:19 PM</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Ray: </b></span>Patrick why don’t you come around for a games night tomorrow night?</span><br/>
<span class="greply"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>Thanks for the invite Ray but I don’t think I’m up for that right now.</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Ray: </b></span>I think it would be good for you to get out of your apartment</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Ray: </b></span>No one’s seen you outside of the store in weeks</span><br/>
<span class="greply"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>Maybe next time, Ray.</span>
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<span class="time"><b>Mon, 06 Aug,</b> 2:23 AM</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Alexis: </b></span>So um. Ted and I broke up.</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>OMG</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Do you want me to call???</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Alexis: </b></span>Oh wow I wasn’t expecting you to be awake</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Alexis: </b></span>A call would be good please</span></p>
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  <em>JOB INTERVIEW<br/>
11am Thursday<br/>
Post Absolute Gallery, SoHo<br/>
Art curator<br/>
Meet with owner - Sabrina</em>
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<span class="header">Artie</span><br/>
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<span class="time"><b>Fri, 10 Aug,</b> 10:38 PM</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Artie: </b></span>Hey Lexi, you left your purse in my car so I dropped it off in your room. Your dad seems like a swell guy!</span><br/>
<span class="greply"><span class="hide"><b>Alexis: </b></span>Thank you! Sorry you had to meet my dad lol</span>
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  <p class="textfield">From: sabrina@postabsolute.com</p>
  <p class="textfield">Subject: Job offer from Post Absolute Gallery</p>
  <p class="textfield">To: davidrose@gmail.com</p>
  <p class="textfield">Sent: 15 Aug 2018 09:22</p>
  <p class="textfield">Attached: <span class="attach"> <span class="u">DavidRoseOffer.docx (31 KB) </span></span></p>
</div><div class="ebody">
  <p>Dear David,</p>
  <p>I am delighted to extend this offer of employment for the position of Art Curator with Post Absolute Gallery. Please review the summary of terms and conditions for your anticipated employment with us</p>
  <p>Your starting salary for this role will be $64,000 per year, payable in accordance with our standard payroll schedule. If you accept this offer, your start date will be September 3rd or another mutually agreed upon date.</p>
  <p>Please find attached the terms and conditions of your employment, should you accept this offer letter. We would like to have your response by August 20th. In the meantime, please feel free to contact me via email or phone at (212) 555-0152 if you have any questions.</p>
  <p>On a personal note, David, I'm very much looking forward to having you join us. I enjoyed our interview immensely, and I can’t wait to see the breadth of knowledge and experience you bring to Post Absolute.</p>
  <p>Best regards,<br/>
Sabrina Olsen-Briggs<br/>
Owner, Post Absolute Gallery</p>
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<span class="header">Stevie</span><br/>
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<span class="time"><b>Fri, 17 Aug,</b> 7:39 PM</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>So we’re actually going to be in New York on Tuesday</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>And by we I mean me and your dad and Roland</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>We have a meeting with some investors to buy 20-30 motels for the rosebud</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>OMG</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>So you’re going to be like an actual businesswoman now??</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>Let’s see how the meeting goes first</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>Anyway it’s with an old friend of your dad’s and they’re sending a plane, and when your dad said you lived in the city he said he could fly us back a bit later so we could see you after</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>To see you and dad, I will put up with Roland</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>Wow, you must really miss us</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>I do actually</span><br/>
<span class="readreceipt"><b>Read</b> 8:04 PM</span>
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<span class="header">Rollie ❤️🍆🍑</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="time"><b>Tue, 21 Aug,</b> 12:31 PM</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Roland: </b></span>🤯 🤯 🤯 </span>
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<span class="header">Stevie</span><br/>
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<span class="time"><b>Tue, 21 Aug,</b> 12:57 PM</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>Change of plan, long story, can we meet you in like an hour?</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Sure</span><br/>
<span class="readreceipt"><b>Read</b> 1:01 PM</span>
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<span class="header">Alexis</span><br/>
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<span class="time"><b>Wed, 22 Aug,</b> 10:22 AM</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Just got off the phone with mom. I can’t believe you’re all moving to New York, that’s so exciting!!</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>It was great to see dad and Stevie yesterday but I’ve really missed you guys</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Alexis: </b></span>Mm, totally</span>
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<span class="header">Stevie</span><br/>
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<span class="time"><b>Thu, 23 Aug,</b> 10:41 AM</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>So when are you thinking you’ll move to New York? Can’t wait to show you the sights</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>Um did your dad not tell you?</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Tell me what</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>I’m not moving to New York</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>What??</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>We decided that Roland and I would stay here</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>I’m going to travel around and set up all the new motels</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Oh</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Okay</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>I guess I thought you wanted to get out</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>Yeah I did too</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>But I realised I don’t need to live in a big city</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>I just needed to know that I could</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Oh</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>But I’m sure I’ll have to come to New York for meetings and stuff</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Sure, yeah</span><br/>
<span class="readreceipt"><b>Read</b> 11:12 AM</span>
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<span class="header">Alexis</span><br/>
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<span class="time"><b>Thu, 23 Aug,</b> 9:48 PM</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Mom just called with the Sunrise Bay news</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Guess it’s just going to be you and me in New York</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Alexis: </b></span>Um about that David</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>What?</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>I know the upper west side is kind of far away from stuff but I’m starting my new job in a couple of weeks</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>We could probably split rent on a place in midtown easy</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Alexis: </b></span>It’s not about the rent</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Alexis: </b></span>So the thing is Interflix offered me a job</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>That’s amazing, their offices are here right?</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Alexis: </b></span>They are</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Alexis: </b></span>But I asked them if I could work remotely and they were fine with that</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Why would you need to work remotely</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Alexis: </b></span>Because I’m staying here</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>In Schitt’s Creek????</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Alexis: </b></span>It just doesn’t feel right to leave right now?</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>I’m so confused</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>What reason do you have to stay?</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Alexis: </b></span>I mean I have friends here David</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Alexis: </b></span>Like Twy and Stevie</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Alexis: </b></span>And I can work for Interflix from here easily, but I have jobs here that would be harder to do in New York</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Who even needs PR in Schitt’s Creek?</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Alexis: </b></span>I have clients. I’ve been doing some work with the store</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>My store?</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Alexis: </b></span>I mean technically not anymore</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Wow</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>So instead of coming to New York with me you’re staying here to help my ex boyfriend run the store we used to own together</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Wow</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Okay</span><br/>
<span class="readreceipt"><b>Read</b> 10:32 PM</span>
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<span class="header">Alexis</span><br/>
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<span class="time"><b>Thu, 23 Aug,</b> 11:03 PM</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Alexis: </b></span>David can you pick up the phone please??</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Alexis: </b></span>I just want to talk about this</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>No</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Alexis: </b></span>David please</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Alexis: </b></span>David!!!!!!!</span>
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<p></p><div class="twUser"><p>
      
      <span>Sunrise Bay<span class="twVerified">✔</span><br/>
<span class="twHandle">@SunriseBayNBC</span></span>
    </p></div><div class="twText"><p>It’s official - we’re heading back to the Bay! Filming starts on an all new season in less than two weeks, starring Nicole Kidman and Bay alum Moira Rose. Coming to NBC in the fall. <span>#SunriseBayReboot</span></p></div><br/><div class="twStats"><p>
      <span class="twTime">12:00 PM • Aug 24, 2018</span>
    </p></div><div class="twComments">
<p></p><div class="twStats"><p><b>43</b> Retweets     <b>284</b> Likes</p></div></div></div><hr/>
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<span class="header">Alexis</span><br/>
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<span class="time"><b>Wed, 29 Aug,</b> 4:17 PM</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Alexis: </b></span>Are you still not talking to me?</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>I’m not not talking to you</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>I’m just busy</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Alexis: </b></span>Okay</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Alexis: </b></span>Call me when you have time I miss you</span>
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<span class="header">Patrick</span><br/>
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<span class="time"><b>Mon, 03 Sep,</b> 6:19 PM</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>ugnugkele</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>Oh my gosh, David, I'm sorry. I must have left my phone unlocked while at the gym.</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>I hope you're enjoying New York</span>
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<span class="header">Taylor</span><br/>
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<span class="time"><b>Sat, 08 Sep,</b> 1:27 AM</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Taylor: </b></span>Hey its taylor we met at club cumming the other night</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Taylor: </b></span>I had fun, wanna do it again</span><br/>
<span class="greply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Sure, when</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Taylor: </b></span>I was thinking now</span><br/>
<span class="greply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>I’m upper west side it’ll take me a while to get down your way</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Taylor: </b></span>I promise to make it worth your while</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Taylor: </b></span>Hopefully more than once</span><br/>
<span class="greply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Give me an hour</span><br/>
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  <p class="innerletter">PATRICK<br/>
- Review contracts to ensure they’re still fit for service<br/>
- Talk to Ray about product photography<br/>
- Research craft markets within driving distance and put them on the calendar<br/>
<br/>
ALEXIS<br/>
- Instagram post schedule<br/>
- Instagram advertising campaign<br/>
- Website refresh, better back end for loading products<br/>
- Google ads for online sales</p>
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<p class="sticky"><span class="hide"><b>STICKY NOTE:</b></span><br/>
<em>Guys who have flirted with Patrick in the store today:<br/>
||||</em></p>
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<p class="sticky"><span class="hide"><b>STICKY NOTE:</b></span><br/>
<em>Seriously, sign up for Bumpkin or something or I’m going to do it for you.<br/>
-Alexis</em></p>
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<span class="header">Stevie</span><br/>
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<span class="time"><b>Thu, 13 Sep,</b> 5:54 PM</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>I’ve been on bumpkin four days and I’ve gotten three dick pics and two requests to hook up right then</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>Dude, welcome to the experience of basically any woman on any dating app</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>Seriously?</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>Yup</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>But good for you for getting back out there or whatever</span>
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  <p class="textfield">From: albany@ohsoklair.com</p>
  <p class="textfield">Subject: House Update - Cleaner</p>
  <p class="textfield">To: davidrose@gmail.com</p>
  <p class="textfield">Sent: 14 Sep 2018 12:29</p>
</div><div class="ebody">
  <p>Hi David,</p>
  <p>Klair asked me to let you know that the house cleaner has to go back home for a couple of weeks, so she won't be back in until 8 October. Hopefully you'll be okay cleaning up after yourself until then.</p>
  <p>Thanks,<br/>
Albany</p>
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  <p class="messagebodyBK"><span class="headerBK"><span class="hide"><b>Messages with </b></span>huntershark69</span><br/>
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<span class="textBK"><span class="hide"><b>Jason: </b></span>Top or bottom?</span><br/>
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<span class="replyBK"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>Seriously? First question?</span>
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<span class="header">Stevie</span><br/>
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<span class="time"><b>Sat, 15 Sep,</b> 10:22 PM</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>OMG dude totally recommend watching the crows movie while high this shit is hilarious</span><br/>
<span class="time"><b>Thu, 20 Sep,</b> 4:12 PM</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>Roland is making not at all veiled references to his sex life, do you think if I vomit in his new truck he’ll know it was me</span><br/>
<span class="time"><b>Mon, 24 Sep,</b> 11:37 AM</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>David are you mad at me about something</span><br/>
<span class="time"><b>Mon, 24 Sep,</b> 5:26 PM</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>I’m not mad at you sorry</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Just super busy</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>Facetime and a smoke tonight?</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>I’d like that</span><br/>
<span class="readreceipt"><b>Read</b> 5:52 PM</span>
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  <p class="messagebodyBK"><span class="headerBK"><span class="hide"><b>Messages with </b></span>leafsfan43</span><br/>
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<span class="textBK"><span class="hide"><b>Calvin: </b></span>Hey man, love to see the Jays hat!</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="replyBK"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>Thanks</span><br/>
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<span class="replyBK"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>Sorry, apparently I've forgotten how to respond to messages that aren't dick pics or terrible pickup lines</span><br/>
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<span class="textBK"><span class="hide"><b>Calvin: </b></span>Ah, so you've been on here more than an hour then</span><br/>
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<span class="replyBK"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>Yeah, a couple of weeks</span><br/>
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<span class="replyBK"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>I split up with my boyfriend a few months ago and his sister basically nagged me into signing up</span><br/>
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<span class="textBK"><span class="hide"><b>Calvin: </b></span>Wait, your ex's sister? That's modern</span><br/>
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<span class="replyBK"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>I live in Schitt's Creek, the social circle is small</span><br/>
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<span class="textBK"><span class="hide"><b>Calvin: </b></span>Still, that must be hard seeing your ex all the time? Or was it not that serious?</span><br/>
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<span class="replyBK"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>No, it was serious. But he moved away so I guess I inherited all our friends</span><br/>
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<span class="replyBK"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>The app says you're within 40km - I'm guessing Elmdale?</span><br/>
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<span class="textBK"><span class="hide"><b>Calvin: </b></span>The bustling metropolis of Elmdale, yeah.</span><br/>
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<span class="textBK"><span class="hide"><b>Calvin: </b></span>Though we did have a new Thai restaurant open up just last week, it's the talk of the town</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="textBK"><span class="hide"><b>Calvin: </b></span>Would you be interested in checking it out with me this weekend?</span><br/>
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<span class="replyBK"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>How about Saturday?</span><br/>
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<span class="textBK"><span class="hide"><b>Calvin: </b></span>Does 8pm work for you?</span><br/>
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<span class="replyBK"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>Sure</span><br/>
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<span class="textBK"><span class="hide"><b>Calvin: </b></span>Okay then. It's a date.</span><br/>
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      <span>TMZ<span class="twVerified">✔</span><br/>
<span class="twHandle">@TMZ</span></span>
    </p></div><div class="twText"><p>It’s still two and a half months until Christmas but apparently David Rose is already thinking about snow… we heard he was rubbing his nose a lot coming out of REBAR this morning. Hopefully his three years away weren’t in rehab!</p></div><br/><div class="twStats"><p>
      <span class="twTime">04:11 AM • Oct 6, 2018</span>
    </p></div><div class="twComments">
<p></p><div class="twStats"><p><b>35</b> Retweets     <b>112</b> Likes</p></div></div></div><br/><div class="tw twBody"><p>
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<p></p><div class="twUser"><p>
      
      <span>Katie<br/>
<span class="twHandle">@katiegolightly772</span></span>
    </p></div><div class="twReply"><p>
      <span>replying to </span>
      <span>@TMZ</span>
    </p></div><div class="twText"><p>Lol if that’s who I think it is I was at Rebar last night and I’m pretty sure that’s not the only blow he was doing in the bathroom… 🍆</p></div><br/><div class="twStats"><p>
      <span class="twTime">08:42 AM • Oct 6, 2018</span>
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<p></p><div class="twStats"><p><b>7</b> Retweets     <b>17</b> Likes</p></div></div></div><hr/>
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<span class="header">Calvin</span><br/>
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<span class="time"><b>Sun, 07 Oct,</b> 11:22 AM</span><br/>
<span class="greply"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>Thanks again for dinner last night. I had a great time but I wanted to let you know up front I'm probably not in the right headspace to do it again. You're a great guy, please don't take it personally.</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Calvin: </b></span>Hey Patrick, it's all good. I did kind of get the sense you're still a bit hung up on your ex. Hope it works out for you man :)</span><br/>
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  <p class="textfield">From: noreply@bumpkin.com</p>
  <p class="textfield">Subject: Your account has been deleted</p>
  <p class="textfield">To: patrickanthonybrewer@gmail.com</p>
  <p class="textfield">Sent: 7 Oct 2018 14:43</p>
</div><div class="ebody">
  <p><br/>
This email confirms that your profile #867556 has been successfully permanently deleted from our system. Your profile is no longer visible to other members, including any photos you may have posted, and any direct messages you have sent to other members have been deleted.</p>
  <p>If you were lucky enough to find love on Bumpkin, please let us know! We love featuring happy endings on our website!</p>
  <p>Thank you,<br/>
The team at Bumpkin<br/>
www.bumpkin.com</p>
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<span class="header">Mrs Brewer</span><br/>
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<span class="time"><b>Thu, 18 Oct,</b> 3:14 PM</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Marcy: </b></span>Hi David it’s Marcy Brewer. I’m not sure if you kept my number after you and Patrick split up - I was so sorry to hear about that by the way. I can’t help but feel a little responsible that you broke up just after we came to town.</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Marcy: </b></span>I hope you don’t mind that I’m reaching out, but I was speaking to your sister at the store today and she said you’ve been sick. I don’t like to think of you all alone in that big city when you’re not feeling well.</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Marcy: </b></span>I’d like to send you my chicken and corn soup recipe, if that’s okay. It’s very easy to make and I’m sure it will have you feeling better in no time.</span><br/>
<span class="time"><b> Thu, 18 Oct,</b> 5:09 PM</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Um that’s really kind thank you</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Please don’t feel bad - you had no reason to think Patrick hadn’t told me about Rachel and I had no reason to think Patrick hadn’t told you about me</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>And honestly homemade soup sounds really nice right now, I just have this cold I can’t shake</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Marcy: </b></span>If you send me your email I can flick that through to you right now, sweetheart.</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>davidrose@gmail.com</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Thank you</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Marcy: </b></span>Sending it now</span>
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  <p class="textfield">From: clintandmarcy@thebrewers.family</p>
  <p class="textfield">Subject: Chicken and Corn Soup</p>
  <p class="textfield">To: davidrose@gmail.com</p>
  <p class="textfield">Sent: 18 Oct 2018 17:18</p>
  <p class="textfield">Attached: <span class="attach"> <span class="u">IMG_1532.JPG (1.3 MB) </span></span></p>
</div><div class="ebody">
  <p>Hello David,</p>
  <p>I've taken a photo of my recipe book for you, I hope you can read my handwriting!</p>
  <p>It should be nice and easy but if you get stuck, please don't hesitate to give me a call. I'm more than happy to talk you through it.</p>
  <p>Best wishes,<br/>
Marcy Brewer</p>
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<span class="header">Alexis</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="time"><b>Fri, 19 Oct,</b> 10:07 AM</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Alexis: </b></span>It was super sweet of your mom to send David her soup recipe, apparently he’s feeling so much better</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>Wait, what?</span><br/>
<span class="readreceipt"><b>Read</b> 10:13 AM</span>
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<span class="header">Mom</span><br/>
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<span class="time"><b>Fri, 19 Oct,</b> 10:15 AM</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>Mom, why did you text David?</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Marcy: </b></span>Alexis said he was sick, sweetheart. He’s all alone in that big city with no one to look after him.</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>Okay, I get that you meant well? But I promise David can look after himself.</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>He literally hasn’t spoken to me since before he moved. He clearly wants a clean break and I think the best thing we can all do is give him one</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>No matter how much it sucks</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Marcy: </b></span>All right. I’m sorry, Patrick. I didn’t mean to make things harder for you.</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>I don’t think anything could make things harder for me, but thanks</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Marcy: </b></span>Will you call me when you finish work tonight?</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>Sure</span><br/>
<span class="readreceipt"><b>Read</b> 10:49 AM</span>
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<span class="header">Patrick</span><br/>
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<span class="time"><b>Fri, 19 Oct,</b> 10:53 AM</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>I’m really sorry if my mom texting you crossed a line, David. I didn’t ask her to do that and I’ve told her it was inappropriate.</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>Though I am really glad to hear you’re feeling better.</span>
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<span class="header">Alexis</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="time"><b>Sat, 3 Nov,</b> 2:34 PM</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>When was the last time you spoke to David?</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Alexis: </b></span>Ummm he texted me like three days ago</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Alexis: </b></span>I haven’t talked to him on the phone in weeks</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Alexis: </b></span>Why?</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>He’s just not really answering many of my messages</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>If he does it’s with like one word</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>Do you think he’s okay?</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Alexis: </b></span>Apart from super not over Patrick?</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Alexis: </b></span>I know he’s going out a lot</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Alexis: </b></span>I don’t know if he’s hanging out with his old friends or not</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Alexis: </b></span>I mean probably not because they sucked and only hung around with him for our money mostly</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Alexis: </b></span>Honestly Stevie I think he’s probably just depressed</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>Yeah</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>I’m worried about him</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Alexis: </b></span>Me too girl</span>
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<p class="sticky"><span class="hide"><b>STICKY NOTE:</b></span><br/>
<em>Call Heather re: current sales numbers</em></p>
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<span class="header">Taylor</span><br/>
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<span class="time"><b>Sun, 25 Nov,</b> 2:04 AM</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Taylor: </b></span>U up</span><br/>
<span class="greply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>1 hour</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Taylor: </b></span>Bring pills</span><br/>
<span class="greply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Think I’ve only got edibles right now</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Taylor: </b></span>K</span>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. How could I slip so easy out of your mind</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <em>Right up until the moment the flight departed for New York, there was a small part of Patrick clinging to the hope that David would change his mind. He didn’t truly let himself believe it was over until the rest of the Roses came back from Toronto without him.</em>
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</p><p>Patrick rubs a hand over his face and tries desperately to focus on the clock in the corner of his laptop screen through bleary eyes. He has to blink twice before he can finally make out the time and when he does he wishes he hadn’t, the 11:57pm staring back at him almost accusingly.</p><p>He lets out a sigh as he closes the laptop, the click of the lid shutting echoing around the empty apartment. He promised himself he wasn’t going to do this anymore; <em>apparently,</em> it’s not ‘emotionally healthy’ to refuse to go to bed until he’s so exhausted that he doesn’t have time to think about how empty the bed feels between his head hitting the pillow and falling asleep. But he’s been avoiding looking at the cash flow projections for months now, and he knew if he didn’t make a start on it today he’d somehow put it off yet again.</p><p>He gets ready for bed, yawning around his toothbrush and letting his eyelids droop as he tugs his pyjama pants on — but as it turns out, when he crawls into bed there is just enough time for him to stare at the pillow he’s not lying on, to remember the way David’s dark hair spread all over it as he slept; just enough time for the ever-present ache in his chest to claw its way up his throat into a shaky breath before his eyes finally slip shut.</p>
<hr/><p>Right up until the moment the flight departed for New York, there was a small part of Patrick clinging to the hope that David would change his mind. He didn’t truly let himself believe it was over until the rest of the Roses came back from Toronto without him.</p>
<hr/><p>Patrick’s still blinking sleep out of his eyes when Alexis breezes into the store just after ten the next morning and for a second, just half a second, his breath catches. Expressive eyebrows aside, it’s not like Alexis and David look anything alike — but their mannerisms are alarmingly similar, and she’s not the first Rose sibling to burst through the door an hour after opening with two cups from the café in hand. But it’s only a fraction of a second, and then he’s mustering up a smile and a greeting for her.</p><p>Officially, Alexis only covers the store on Monday and Thursday afternoons so he can go to Elmdale, plus the first Tuesday of every month when he does vendor visits. Unofficially, she seems to have made the stockroom her own personal Interflix office space, so it’s not really a surprise that she’s here on a Friday morning. While Patrick occasionally thinks he should object, the truth is he enjoys the company. Alexis always has a wild story to entertain him when he’s feeling down, and they fill the time in between customers talking about anything and everything.</p><p>Everything except David.</p><p>He knows bits and pieces of what David’s up to in New York, from things Alexis and Stevie have let slip; that he has a new job in an art gallery, that he’s been going out clubbing on the weekends, that he’s either living with or housesitting for one of Alexis’ friends — that last one he’s not actually clear on. But it’s enough to know that David is living the life he always wanted, far away from Schitt’s Creek.</p><p>And Patrick knows it’s his fault; knows that he’s the one that drove David away. But it still hurts.</p><p>(He hasn’t been able to bring himself to ask if David’s seeing anyone.)</p><p>He takes the proffered cup out of Alexis’ hand and takes a sip — Twyla has been on a real tea flavours kick since she took over ownership of the café, and he’s been happy to let her experiment on him. This one is somehow both sweeter than he’d ever pick out for himself and exactly what he needs this morning, and he makes a mental note to tell her so when he picks up his lunch later.</p><p>Some days Alexis spends most of her time in the back, but on others she grabs a stool and makes herself comfortable behind the counter. After looking at Patrick for a long moment she clearly decides today is one of the latter days, and before he can blink the breath mints are being pushed down towards the cash register so she can put her laptop there instead.</p><p>“You know, you could totally just leave those there. Then I wouldn’t have to move them every time.”</p><p>Suddenly, inexplicably, Patrick wants to cry. It’s been well over five months since his birthday, five months since David left; at this point, he should be able to look at a product they’ve stocked for over two years without flashing back to a flailing rant that culminated in the word <em>boyfriend.</em> Carefully not looking at Alexis, he lines the breath mints up next to the cash register, pushing at the edges of the boxes until they are methodically aligned.</p><p>“Well.” It comes out croaky, and he clears his throat. “Having breath mints next to the cash is <em>incorrect.”</em></p><p>Despite keeping his eyes on the mints, the prickle of Alexis’ gaze on the side of his face lets him know that she sees right through him. She doesn’t say anything, though, just picks up her phone and starts typing away, not looking up even as the bell above the door announces Jocelyn’s arrival.</p><p>Patrick pastes on a smile as he welcomes her, but it comes easier than it does for some other members of the town. Right back when he and David split up and it seemed like most of the town rallied around David, Jocelyn had made a point to check in on him in her overbearing but ultimately well-meaning way. She’d brought him a Dorito casserole he’d thought he’d be scraping into the bin but had wound up eating on his couch the day David left for New York, and she’s continued to be a stalwart supporter of the store ever since. She even got most of the Jazzagals coming back — with the notable exception of Ronnie who, as far as Patrick is aware, hasn’t set foot inside Rose Apothecary since David left town.</p><p>Then again, even Jocelyn and Roland can’t buy enough massage oil to make up for the noticeable dip in their sales since his birthday.</p><p>She chatters about everything and nothing as she moves about the store, filling them both in on the latest Jazzagals arrangements as Patrick does a much better job of pretending to listen to her than Alexis seems to be. By the time she makes her way to the counter, holding a bottle of shampoo Patrick’s sure she bought just a few days ago and can’t possibly have run out of yet, Alexis has finally put her phone down and the two of them get into a lively discussion about last night’s episode of Sunrise Bay as Patrick rings her up. He’s never admitted to either of them — or anyone, really — that he watches the show too, and he barely refrains from jumping in with his own opinions on where Nicole Kidman’s character’s arc is going as he bags up Jocelyn’s purchase and hands her a receipt.</p><p>Once she’s left Alexis goes back to her work, and Patrick reluctantly opens his laptop to take another swing at the cash flow spreadsheet in the light of day.</p>
<hr/><p>Sometimes he thinks about selling the store, moving back to West Canthor where his parents are, trying to move on without the constant reminder of how happy he once was. But Rose Apothecary is the one part of his relationship with David he has left; tangible evidence that they created something special.</p><p>It’s the one good thing left in his life, the one thing he managed to not totally screw up. He just needs to hold onto it.</p>
<hr/><p>It’s nearly closing time when the bell above the door announces Stevie’s arrival. It’s not unusual to see her when she’s not travelling for work, especially on a Friday — but the glance she exchanges with Alexis as she enters is less expected, and when Alexis picks up her laptop and ducks behind the curtain Patrick has the sudden realisation that this interaction has been entirely pre-arranged. He braces himself, but Stevie doesn’t say anything at first, just wanders over to the wine fridge and pulls out a couple of bottles of chardonnay before placing them on the counter with a loud thud. It’s not until Patrick has rung her up — friends and family discount applied, of course — that she speaks.</p><p>“You and I are going out tomorrow night.”</p><p>Patrick blinks at the blunt statement. “Thanks, Stevie, but I’m not sure I’m really feeling up for—”</p><p>“Did I phrase it as a question?” She stares him down, one eyebrow raised, as he wilts under her gaze.</p><p>He battles with himself for one more moment before finally giving in with a sigh. “Are we meeting at my place or yours?”</p><p>Her answering smirk as she picks up her tote bag has him worried about exactly what he’s gotten himself in for. He remembers suddenly, vividly, the time she and David stayed the night in Elm Valley — even late in the morning when they’d arrived back, David’s hangover had been notable. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”</p><p>It’s only once the door closes behind her that Alexis emerges again, a cautious smile on her face. “Well, that will be fun! Stevie’s so sweet!”</p><p>Patrick laughs almost despite himself. “I know that was pre-planned, Alexis.”</p><p>“Mmkay.” She tosses a lock of hair behind her shoulder, unfazed. “We’re just worried about you. You’re turning into a sad little hermit, and it’s not a cute look for you.”</p><p>Patrick opens his mouth to argue, and closes it again without making a sound. He hasn’t been out in weeks, barely able to muster up the energy required to interact with people during business hours. “I don’t need the two of you organising my social life, Alexis.” It comes out a little harsher than he intended it to, and she purses her lips for a second.</p><p>“Well, someone has to.” Her eyes go soft. “It’s been six months, Patrick.”</p><p>“Five and a half.” It’s a distinction without a difference, but he feels the need to make it anyway. “And it’s not… I’m fine.”</p><p>It’s been six weeks since he last texted David. Surely that’s progress?</p><p>“Then you’ll be <em>fine</em> going out with Stevie tomorrow, won’t you?”</p><p>And, well, Patrick can’t find an argument for that. He glances up at the clock, noting with relief that it’s finally ticked over to 5pm; he locks the door and starts closing, moving around Alexis while she, as usual, sits on the counter and chatters away. The last thing he does is count out the till and print off the sales report, trying not to wince at the low numbers in both cases. Before, David would have come up with some sort of evening event the second their numbers started to slip, but coming up with innovative ideas to get people in the store was never Patrick’s strength — with the sole exception of the open mic nights, and he’d cancelled the one that was scheduled for the week after he and David broke up and hasn’t been able to face scheduling another one since.</p><p>Once the cash is locked in the safe and Alexis has packed up her laptop they walk out together, Patrick locking the door behind them before they make their way to his car by unspoken agreement. He drops her off at Twyla’s apartment like he does most evenings — in his head, he still thinks of it as Twyla’s even though she and Alexis have been roommates since Mr and Mrs Rose moved back to California — and like most evenings he tries not to think about all the times he’d dropped David off at the motel after work as he bids her goodnight.</p><p>By the time he makes it back to his apartment he’s too tired to cook the stirfry he was planning so he orders pizza instead, reeling off David’s favourite order by force of habit. By the time he realises he’s done it he figures it would be too confusing to change it, and it’s not like there’s anything <em>wrong</em> with a pepperoni extra cheese, so he leaves it.</p><p>He eats his dinner on the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table as he channel surfs, never quite settling on anything. It’s as though he can’t clear the fog in his brain for long enough to make it focus, and he finds himself watching mindless reality television late into the night, until he’s so tired he seriously considers sleeping on the couch. It’s only the thought of how much his spine will object in the morning that forces him to his feet and over to the bathroom to brush his teeth.</p><p>As he’s pulling the sheets back to climb into bed his eyes wander up to the prints hanging above the headboard; the black and white shots of New York David had found at a store in Elm Glen not long after Patrick moved into this place. His eyes had lit up when he’d spotted them and Patrick, always a sucker for one of David’s unabashed smiles, had put them on the counter before he’d even figured out where they would go. At the time it had felt like David making his mark on the apartment despite the confusion over them moving in together, and that had immediately made it feel more like home.</p><p>Now, Patrick wonders if he should have taken it as a warning sign. If it had been a hint, one he was too wrapped up in his own feelings to pick up on, that David was never going to be happy until he was back in New York.</p>
<hr/><p>There’s always a moment, between sleeping and waking, when Patrick forgets. In his half-awake state he’ll reach out, expecting to find the solid weight of David tucked under the sheets with him; when he finds the other side of the bed cold and unslept in he’ll envisage David walking through the front door of Rose Apothecary, with that soft smile he only ever reserved for Patrick.</p><p>It’s only ever a moment, and then reality comes slamming back into him.</p><p>But he’d live in that moment forever if he could.</p>
<hr/><p>Business is slow the next day, and time drags slowly enough that by the time Patrick locks up he’s actually looking forward to going out with Stevie. He showers after he gets home and actually shaves for the first time in… a while, though with the speed at which he grows facial hair it’s not like anyone’s really noticed. After some hesitation, he throws on the shirt he last wore on his awkward Bumpkin date, and he’s just shoving his wallet into the pocket of his jeans when his phone buzzes.</p>
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<span class="header">Stevie</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="time"><b>Sat, 01 Dec,</b> 6:59 PM</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>Beep beep</span>
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</div><p>He chuckles to himself as he grabs his keys, locking the door behind him before walking quickly down the stairs. When he steps out of the building he’s surprised to see Stevie’s car waiting for him, the engine still running.</p><p>“No cab?” He can’t stop the question spilling past his lips as he climbs into the passenger seat, and she shoots him a look in return.</p><p>“Figured you’re probably not in the mood for Rides by Ray right now.”</p><p>He rubs his hand nervously up and down his thigh. “You’re not wrong. Still, I wasn’t expecting you to sober drive, Stevie.”</p><p>“I can have one beer.” She shrugs lightly, her eyes fixed on the road. “Besides, the aim of tonight isn’t to get wasted — no offence, but I’m still scarred from all your painkiller-induced rambling.”</p><p>Patrick winces at the memory. He doesn’t know exactly what he said to Stevie in the wake of his wisdom teeth removal, but she gave him an overview when he woke up and he can fill in the blanks. Hungry, sad, missing David. Two of those are things he’s pretty much always feeling, so it’s no surprise they came tumbling out when his guard was lowered. Still, he was surprised the unchecked sincerity hadn’t driven her to leave.</p><p>“So what is the aim of tonight, then, if not to drink ourselves into a stupor?”</p><p>She casts him a sidelong glance. “To get you out of the house, mostly.” Then she leans over and turns up the radio, effectively ending their conversation.</p><p>Patrick had assumed they were going to the Wobbly Elm, but when they drive past the entrance without slowing down he shoots a concerned look Stevie’s way. Her face, as usual, gives nothing away, so he settles back into his seat with a sigh.</p><p>When she flicks her indicator on a few moments later, Patrick barely bites back a groan. He should have known; should have been able to guess where Stevie would take him for a night out.</p><p>“Stevie, I don’t think—”</p><p>She cuts him off before he can finish his objection. “You’re not the only person in this car attracted to guys, Brewer.” She pulls into the parking lot of The Dude Cave and finds a space about halfway back. Once she’s switched off the ignition, she turns to him. “If I’m sticking to one beer tonight, then I’m at least going to drool over a few six-packs while I nurse it, okay?”</p><p>As always, he finds her impossible to argue with. “Fine.”</p><p>Patrick has never been one for strip clubs, although it would have been fair to assume that was because he’d only been to ones with female dancers and he is, as it turns out, very gay. But when they step inside and are immediately assaulted by a loud thumping he remembers that his objection was always less about the dancers themselves and more about the godawful, impossible to hear over music they dance to.</p><p>He follows Stevie to the bar and is begrudgingly impressed when she somehow communicates her request for a beer and a whiskey to the bartender despite the fact that he’s sure neither of them can hear the other. Then she grabs him by the elbow and leads him over to a booth in the corner, where they can still see the stage but the sound of the bass is just muffled enough that conversation is possible, if not ideal.</p><p>If Patrick thinks she’s going to go easy on him, he’s soon relieved of that misapprehension. She waits until he’s taking a sip of his whiskey to ask: “So why didn’t you tell David you were engaged?”</p><p>Patrick chokes, spluttering half his mouthful onto the Formica tabletop between them. “Sorry, what?”</p><p>They don’t talk about this. Even in those few days after his birthday, before David… before they… even then, she didn’t ask him to explain himself. She was chilly enough to make it clear she was on David’s side — but hell, Patrick was on David’s side too, so he couldn’t fault her for that — but she’d still talked to him at rehearsals, had delivered David chocolates when he asked.</p><p>She shrugs, taking a sip of her beer that Patrick knows looks far more casual than it actually is. “I mean, not talking about it clearly isn’t working for you. So let’s talk about it.”</p><p>He tilts his glass, watching the amber liquid slosh around the bottom. “It’s not that I don’t talk about it.” He’s almost hypnotised by the way the whiskey swirls, the lights of the disco ball above their head sparkling in it. “But you’re David’s friend. I don’t want to put you in the middle.”</p><p>“Can’t put me in the middle if David’s not here.” She takes a longer swig this time before setting the bottle down on the table with a loud thunk. “Come on, I really want to know. How, in two years, did that never come up?”</p><p>The answer he gives her isn’t the <em>I was ashamed</em> he’d told David, nor is it the <em>I just wanted to look forward instead of backward</em> he’d cried to his parents over brunch the day after his birthday, or the hundred other justifications he’s used over the last few months. What comes out of his mouth surprises even him. “We agreed we’d lock our pasts up.”</p><p>Stevie’s eyebrows fly towards her hairline. “You agreed you’d lock your pasts up.” Repeated back to him in her sardonic tone it sounds even more defensive than it did when he said it. “So you don’t know about Anderson Cooper?”</p><p>Patrick winces as he remembers David’s meltdown thirty feet in the air. “The parasailing thing, right?”</p><p>She doesn’t blink. “Lisa Atkinson?”</p><p>“That godawful woman who sent his calendar to the paparazzi?”</p><p>“Do you know why he was in Dubai in 2010?”</p><p>They’d flicked over to some travel show one night that was talking about the UAE and the whole story had come tumbling out. “He had to take the jet to get Alexis because the consulate was being too slow.”</p><p>“Sebastien Raine?”</p><p>The wave of jealousy that rolls through his stomach is just as strong as the first time he heard that name, from David when they were still setting up the store. It was the first time he admitted to himself that maybe his feelings for David were romantic. “In New York or Schitt’s Creek?”</p><p>She stares at him for a long moment. “Doesn’t sound like he locked up his past at all.”</p><p>There’s a vice around his heart, tightening slowly. “No, I know.”</p><p>“So.” Her expression isn’t unkind, but it doesn’t exactly make him feel all warm and fuzzy inside either. “Why didn’t you tell David you were engaged?”</p><p>He knocks back half his whiskey in one gulp, welcoming the burn in his throat as something to focus his mind on. “Because everything with David was so <em>easy.”</em> He’s spent months untangling this, trying to understand exactly what led him to think keeping secrets of this magnitude could end in any way but disaster. “I was so happy, and it made everything else seem so distant. Being with David felt more real to me than anything else ever had.”</p><p>She nods slowly at this, her gaze thoughtful. “Will you tell me about your fiancée?”</p><p>“You want me to tell you about Rachel?” He stares at her, but he can’t find any hint of what she’s thinking on her face. “Why?”</p><p>“Because I get the feeling you might need to.”</p><p>And, well. She’s got him dead to rights there. It all comes spilling out — how they started dating in high school after they met opposing each other on their schools’ respective debate teams, how they broke up before university and got back together halfway through their first year, how as they got older it felt more and more like he was trying to force together two puzzle pieces that looked like they should fit and yet somehow didn’t. He talks about how the sex was fine, nothing to shout from the rooftops about but enjoyable enough, and how when they were broken up and he dated other women it was never as good as it was with Rachel so really, the problem had to be him, didn’t it? He remembers that when they broke up he’d feel relieved, and then he’d feel so guilty for being relieved because it’s not like anything was really <em>wrong</em> between them — they had similar interests, knew how to make each other laugh, no one was abusive or cheating or cruel; there was just always something ever so slightly out of step between them. He tells Stevie about how he proposed thinking it would make things better between them but it only made it worse, as every discussion they had about a wedding plan made him feel more and more suffocated until finally he broke up with her one last time and took the first job he could find that was far enough away he’d have an excuse not to come home on the weekends. He tells her how he spent his whole adult life thinking something was wrong with him and then he met David, and he finally understood what right felt like. By the time he stops talking his throat is raw, and he swipes angrily at the single errant tear that is slipping down his cheek.</p><p>Stevie, to her credit and Patrick’s eternal gratitude, takes what has to be an uncomfortable level of emotion for her in stride. When he’s finally done word vomiting all over her she gets up, gestures for him to stay where he is, and returns a few minutes later with a fresh whiskey in hand which she slides across the table to him as she sits. Once he’s taken a sip and placed the glass down again, she fixes him with a long look.</p><p>“And why didn’t you tell David your parents didn’t know about him?”</p><p>That one’s easier. “He’d been someone’s dirty secret so many times, Stevie. I didn’t want him to think…” His breath hitches in his throat, and he takes a deep breath to steady himself. “I didn’t want him to think he was anything other than <em>it</em> for me.”</p><p>The look of pity on her face is almost unbearable. “You’re still in love with him, aren’t you.”</p><p>Patrick chokes out something between a chuckle and a sob. “Of course I’m still in love with him. I’m always going to be in love with him.”</p><p>“Is that why you deleted your Bumpkin account?”</p><p>“Jesus Christ.” Despite himself, he laughs. He’s been here two and a half years and sometimes it still surprises him just how efficiently news can get around a small town. “Yeah. I went on one date and I just… it felt <em>wrong.”</em></p><p>Stevie starts picking at the label on her beer bottle, her thumb worrying the edges until there’s enough space for her to start peeling it off. She doesn’t look at him as she speaks. “David’s been seeing people. A lot of people.”</p><p>It hits him like a punch right to the solar plexus; he fights to breathe through it. “Oh?”</p><p>“Mm.” Still no eye contact. “He’s been going out partying on the weekends, on god knows what to stay up all night with god knows who.”</p><p>He’s never picked her for a cruel person. “Stevie, why are you telling me this?”</p><p>She pulls her bottom lip in between her teeth and out again. “He doesn’t call Alexis anymore. He barely responds to my texts. It’s like he’s trying to forget Schitt’s Creek ever existed.”</p><p>That one really rips a hole through his heart. Irrationally, he thinks he’d rather be hated by David than forgotten by him. “Sounds like he’s getting right back to his old life.” He forces the words out, ignoring how much they cost him to say. “As long as he’s happy, right?”</p><p>Stevie finally snaps her eyes to his at the words, staring across the table at him. “As long as he’s <em>happy?”</em></p><p>“It sounds like he has everything he wanted.” Once, that had included Patrick. But not anymore, and he has no one to blame but himself. “He’s back in the city he loves, with an art job, he’s going out and enjoying himself. Good for him.”</p><p>The worst part is, he thinks he might mean it.</p><p>Stevie shakes her head at him. “You know David better than anyone.”</p><p>“You and I both know that’s not true anymore.” He swallows back the remainder of his second glass. “He hasn’t spoken to me in nearly six months, Stevie.”</p><p>Stevie purses her lips, but she lets it go.</p>
<hr/><p>On Sunday afternoon Patrick finally finishes the cash flow projections, and when he does he drops his head into his hands and takes a few shuddering breaths. No matter which way he swings the numbers, there’s one incontrovertible truth.</p><p>He always knew David was the heart and soul of Rose Apothecary.</p><p>And without its heart, the store is dying.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. What doesn't kill you can drag you for miles</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <em>David physically shakes the memory away, opening his email app to distract himself. It’s only ever mailing lists he keeps forgetting to unsubscribe from so he can go up to a week between checking it; it’s been a few days since he last looked so it’s a shock to see a very familiar name sitting in his inbox, and he frowns at the subject line.</em>
</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm just going to encourage everyone to skim over the tags, and if there's anything in there that you need to prepare for ahead of reading, please make sure you do that. </p><p>Now that we're over halfway through, I just want to stop and say thank you so much for all the lovely comments, and kudos, and yelling at me on Tumblr! While we definitely still have some angst ahead of us in the next few chapters, this is the last chapter that doesn't have a hopeful ending, so things are definitely starting to look up! ❤️</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>Sometimes when David wakes up, he could swear he feels the phantom of a soft kiss on the back of his neck. Logically, he always knows it’s not real; he never invites people here and he doesn’t stay the night with anyone else. Two years with… two years in a relationship made him cuddly in his sleep, as he learned soon after he moved back to New York, and he’s not sleeping with the kind of people who want that. So he sleeps alone, and it’s better for everyone.</p><p>Still. The memory of it is enough to wake him up sometimes, and even the ache deep in his sternum that accompanies it doesn’t stop it being a much more pleasant way to wake up than the shrill blaring of his alarm. It always was his favourite way to wake up, which is why…</p><p>Anyway.</p><p>He picks up his phone and reads the time with a groan. It’s far, far too early; he’s gotten used to four or five hours of sleep a night, and so on the rare nights like last night that he doesn’t actually go out his body apparently doesn’t know what to do with the extra time.</p><p>He thinks idly that he could become a morning person; go to the gym before work, maybe. <em>Go for a morning hike,</em> his brain supplies unhelpfully, and he shoves away the unwanted mental image of a hiking pack being dropped beside the door, of David being hauled out of bed and into the shower, of the thunk of knees hitting tile, of looking down to see—</p><p>David physically shakes the memory away, opening his email app to distract himself. It’s only ever mailing lists he keeps forgetting to unsubscribe from so he can go up to a week between checking it; it’s been a few days since he last looked so it’s a shock to see a very familiar name sitting in his inbox, and he frowns at the subject line.</p><p>
  <strong>Is your phone broken or something?</strong>
</p><p>He exits out of the emails and pulls up his message chain with Stevie. He sort of knew there’d been a few texts he hadn’t responded to, but scrolling back through his messages he’s surprised by just how long it’s been.</p>
<p></p><div class="phone">
  <p class="messagebody">
<span class="header">Stevie</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="time"><b>Fri, 26 Oct,</b> 12:03 PM</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>Did you die of your man flu?</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>If you did can I inherit the town? I’ve always wanted to be a real estate mogul</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>I’m alive, sorry</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>Oh well, best wishes</span><br/>
<span class="time"><b>Thu, 01 Nov,</b> 2:55 PM</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>Apparently motel floor joints are a constant across countries</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>Who are all these people who just drop their weed on the floor and never look for it?</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>Or maybe it’s one person roaming North America like a stoned Johnny Appleseed</span><br/>
<span class="time"><b>Mon, 05 Nov,</b> 8:41 PM</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>Hot news from Schitt’s Creek — Gwen moved to Elm Valley</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Who?</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>omg David. Bob’s (ex) wife.</span><br/>
<span class="time"><b>Sat, 10 Nov,</b> 7:13 PM</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>Going crawling for randoms, wish me luck</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Don’t get murdered</span><br/>
<span class="time"><b>Mon, 19 Nov,</b> 6:19 PM</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>Holy shit now Twyla’s taken over the café the mozzarella sticks are, dare I say it, edible</span><br/>
<span class="time"><b>Thu, 22 Nov,</b> 8:55 PM</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>Hell is a roadside motel in Wisconsin</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>They have three channels on their televisions. THREE.</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>This makes Schitt’s Creek look like a metropolis</span><br/>
<span class="time"><b>Fri, 30 Nov,</b> 12:04 PM</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>Ronnie just asked me to say hi to you</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>Apparently she thinks we still talk</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>Not really sure what gave her that impression</span>
</p>
</div><p>Guilt floods through him as he reads back through over a month’s worth of messages. It’s not like he’s been deliberately ignoring her; he’s just busy. And yeah, talking to Stevie makes him think of Schitt’s Creek, and thinking of Schitt’s Creek makes him miss… but that doesn’t matter. He flicks back over to her email, scanning quickly.</p>
<p></p><div class="window">
  <p class="topbar"></p>
  <p class="textfield">From: stevie.budd@rosebudmotelgroup.com</p>
  <p class="textfield">Subject: Is your phone broken or something?</p>
  <p class="textfield">To: davidrose@gmail.com</p>
  <p class="textfield">Sent: 02 Dec 2018 10:58</p>
</div><div class="ebody">
  <p>No, seriously. Did you drop it off the empire state building? Throw it at a busker in a fit of rage? I can’t believe you’re making me send a PERSONAL EMAIL in 2018.</p>
  <p>When was the last time you called your sister? She misses you.</p>
  <p>We all do.</p>
</div><p>He winces at what is, even through text, an acerbic tone. He’ll message her back when he’s a bit more awake.</p><p>He hauls himself out of bed, scrubbing at his eyes as he does so. He doesn’t sleep well, anymore; he never used to notice the noise of the city, but three years in rural Canada completely destroyed his tolerance for it and even uptown is too loud for him now. Not to mention how cold and empty the bed is when it only has him in it.</p><p>As always, he moves through his morning routine on auto-pilot as he’s waking up. He showers and shaves, spends too much time trying to wrangle his hair and even more time on his skincare routine, and finally heads downstairs to make himself breakfast. It’s not like he’ll ever be an amazing cook, but he had started to learn in the last few months before he moved, so he can at least keep himself fed without having to spend too much on eating out. Even when he doesn’t have to pay rent, his salary doesn’t stretch anywhere near as far in the city as it would have back in Schitt’s Creek.</p><p>A lot has changed since the last time he lived here, and almost all of it comes back to money. These days he no longer picks up the tab for everyone; he has to keep consistent work hours, as he’s not the owner; only the clothes that actually require it get sent out for dry cleaning. But the thing that would perhaps be most shocking to the David Rose of 2014 is he now willingly — perhaps even happily — takes the subway to work each day.</p><p>There’s a coffee shop conveniently located between his subway stop and Post Absolute, and even with the pre-business hours line he strolls into the gallery a full two and a half minutes before he’s due to start, caramel macchiato in hand. It’s nice not to get a funny look from a barista when he reels off his order, like Twyla did the first few times he ordered coffee in Schitt’s Creek — but once Twyla knew how he liked his coffee, she absolutely <em>perfected</em> it. What he gets here is… well, it’s fine. It’s caffeine. It keeps him awake and alert, and that’s all he needs it to do, really.</p><p>Sabrina is already in the office when he arrives, and she glances up with a quick smile before her gaze gets more assessing, sweeping up and down. She’s a great boss — so far, at least, there have been no terrible husbands to deal with on the phone or stepdaughters to shepherd through the next stage in their development — but she does have this unnerving habit of always looking at David as though she sees right through him.</p><p>“You’re not sleeping well.” It’s not phrased as a question, and David’s denial dies on his tongue. He shrugs lightly instead, wielding his coffee cup like a shield against the pointed analysis.</p><p>“That’s what this is for.”</p><p>“Hmm.” Her mouth tightens a little but to David’s relief she doesn’t push the issue, instead jumping into a discussion about their upcoming Christmas exhibition that David is mostly awake enough to follow.</p><p>By the time they’ve finished, Stevie’s email has slipped his mind.</p>
<hr/><p>The next day he gets out of a meeting with one of the artists they’re going to be featuring in the new year to find a message from Alexis waiting for him.</p>
<p></p><div class="phone">
  <p class="messagebody">
<span class="header">Alexis</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="time"><b>Thu, 06 Dec,</b> 4:24 PM</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Alexis: </b></span>Any chance you’re free for a call tonight?</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Alexis: </b></span>I feel like we haven’t talked in forever</span>
</p>
</div><p>She’s not wrong; they haven’t talked in a while. David has spent a lot of his life being frustrated by his sister — when she’d run off with some new idiot, when he had to get her wigs and coloured contacts because she found herself in yet another dungeon, when she’d flit off somewhere new every week without updating David on where she was headed — but she was never able to <em>hurt</em> him before. Even the times someone he was dating left him for her were more annoying and slightly gross than upsetting.</p><p>But instead of moving to New York when she had the chance, she chose to stay in Schitt’s Creek with… well. She chose to stay in Schitt’s Creek. She chose to keep doing social media for the store. <em>She chose that.</em> And she’s an adult who can make her own choices.</p><p>Just like David can make his.</p><p>Fuck it. He’s going out tonight. He doesn’t want to hear about what Alexis is up to back in Canada; doesn’t want to hear the way she always tries to talk around any mention of him. It makes it harder, in some ways, that there’s such an obvious shadow hanging over their conversations. Every time they talk, David’s imagination runs wild with all the things she’s pointedly not telling him.</p><p>It’s been six months since he left, and yet every time he lets himself remember his life in Schitt’s Creek he still wants to cry.</p><p>Isn’t it supposed to get easier?</p>
<hr/><p>It’s the middle of the week, so he has to hit three different clubs before he finds one with the sort of vibe he’s looking for — the music pumping so loud he can’t hear himself think, heated makeout and grinding sessions on the dance floor, everyone in a sharing mood. When the cute guy in a too-tight shirt David has been dancing with for about ten minutes pulls a small bag out of his pocket and quirks an eyebrow at him, David cups his palm; instead, the guy takes a pill out of the bag pinched between his thumb and forefinger and David opens his mouth, letting the guy drop the pill onto his tongue. He’s guessing it’s probably molly, but he leaves it sitting on his tongue until he watches the guy take one for himself and then he swallows it down.</p><p>While he waits for it to kick in he starts grinding up against the guy and soon finds a tongue being shoved messily into his mouth; by the time he’s rolling they’re basically dry-humping there on the dance floor, the guy’s hands shoved into the back pockets of David’s jeans with his fingers digging into David’s ass. Eventually the way his erection is pressing against his fly is too much and David pushes and pulls the guy over to the bathroom and into an empty stall, barely remembering to lock the door behind them before he’s sinking to his knees. The music is muted enough by several doors that he could, if he wanted to, ask the other guy’s name, but instead he just tugs frantically at the stranger’s pants until he can get them and his underwear down his thighs.</p><p>He feels everything tenfold right now, and it’s all amazing; the hard floor under his knees, his pulse racing under his skin, the music flooding through him. But much more overwhelming than all of that is the smell of arousal as he licks a long, slow stripe up the guy’s cock, the taste bursting over his tongue as he finally wraps his lips around the guy’s dick and sinks down, flattening his tongue as he does so. The sensations are <em>so much</em> and David’s moaning nearly as loudly as the guy is as he proceeds to give a messy and entirely inelegant blowjob.</p><p>It’s only when the guy’s moans start getting shorter, his thigh muscles tensing under David’s fingertips where they’re clinging for leverage, that David brings his hands to his own fly and releases his aching cock. He’s so turned on that he can just smear the precome over himself before he starts to jerk off quickly, trying to time his orgasm so it hits just before the guy’s does.</p><p>It’s so much easier, if his sounds are already being muffled, to swallow back the name he still wants to cry out when he comes.</p>
<hr/><p>He doesn’t get home until close to 4am, so he decides as soon as he wakes up that it’s definitely a two-coffee morning; he makes one before he leaves, downing it far too quickly on the subway considering how hot it is before he picks up another from his usual coffee shop. Sabrina’s mouth is pinched in concern when he walks through the door but she doesn’t say anything as he sinks into his chair in the office, her lips pressed together even when it takes him three attempts to enter his computer password correctly.</p><p>Thank god he doesn’t have any artist meetings today, because he’s not sure he would have coped. In fact he has nothing booked all day, which is both a blessing and a curse; it’s not like he can concentrate on anything important, but at the same time the day absolutely crawls without anything to distract him.</p><p>And then, in the middle of the afternoon when he’s seriously considering going out and buying a beanbag from somewhere just so he can curl up and take a nap in it, he finds himself thoroughly distracted indeed.</p><p>“David, there’s someone here to see you.”</p><p>David blinks slowly at Sabrina’s voice calling from out the front. He <em>knows</em> there’s nothing in his calendar, and it’s not like her to let unsolicited artists invite themselves to a meeting; with some effort he hauls himself out of his chair and out of the office, his feet dragging before they come to an abrupt stop when he sees who Sabrina is talking to.</p><p>Standing in front of her, black duffel bag at her feet and looking thoroughly pissed off, is Stevie.</p><p>“What the fuck are you doing here?” He blurts the question out before he can think about things like professionalism but luckily there are no customers in the gallery right now and Sabrina just laughs as she turns to him.</p><p>“Stevie was telling me she’s a friend of yours from back home?”</p><p>David swallows around the lump in his throat. “From Canada, yeah.” He doesn’t miss the way Stevie’s eyes narrow slightly at his correction, nor does Sabrina’s flicker of a frown escape his notice. He really needs to stop surrounding himself with frighteningly observant women.</p><p>“Well seeing as she’s here, why don’t you take off early?” Sabrina turns to Stevie, her lips quirking up at the corners. “I think David had a late night last night.”</p><p>Stevie doesn’t take her eyes off him. “From what I hear he’s pretty used to those nowadays.”</p>
<hr/><p>It’s Stevie’s first time on a New York subway, but thankfully it’s early enough that they don’t have to contend with the commuter rush. They make their way back uptown in a cloud of stilted conversation; it’s Stevie’s turn to give one word answers to David’s attempts at talking to her, and he can’t deny he’s probably earned that, all things considered. He chews the inside of his lip, considering, but it’s not until they’ve reached their stop and are walking towards David’s place that he remembers the best way to earn Stevie’s forgiveness.</p><p>Well, <em>remembers</em> isn’t quite right. More like <em>sees the sign on the store ahead and has a brainwave.</em></p><p>“Come on.” He grabs her elbow and steers her quickly into the liquor store. “You pick what we’re drinking tonight.”</p><p>Her eyes narrow at him before she looks away, towards the whisky bottles lined up along the wall. She marches over to them, her eyes scanning the shelves before she finally picks up a green bottle. There’s a defiant tilt to her chin when she meets his eyes again that has David cringing in anticipation for what this is going to do to his bank account, and sure enough when they get to the counter he finds that what she’s chosen is a $130 bottle of Laphroaig.</p><p>Weirdly, it’s that which makes him think they’ll be okay. If she trusts him enough to troll him, she probably doesn’t hate him for not calling.</p><p>Probably.</p><p>After they leave the store, David’s bank account significantly lighter and black bag containing the whisky in hand, he finally clears his throat and musters up all the sincerity he usually hides behind defensiveness. “I’ve really missed you, Stevie.”</p><p>She glances sideways at him. “Yeah, I could tell from how clingy you were being. All those texts.”</p><p>“I wasn’t…” He sucks in a breath. “It’s hard to think about Schitt’s Creek. It’s not about you.”</p><p>There’s a muscle jumping in her jaw as she stares deliberately away from him, into the street where the cars are whizzing past. “Kind of feels like it’s a little bit about me.”</p><p>They’ve never been huggers, but he reaches out and squeezes her arm. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m really glad you’re here.”</p><p>Stevie lets out a long breath. “Me too, David.”</p>
<hr/><p>He gives her a tour of the house when they get back, and despite the fact that there’s a spare bedroom she drops her duffel bag in his room with a shrug. David insists on taking care of dinner — by which he means ordering basically their combined body weights in Chinese food — and once it arrives, they curl up on the couch in front of the flat screen TV with a glass of whisky each and all the food spread out on the coffee table in front of them. David opens Interflix, then hands the remote to Stevie.</p><p>“You pick.” He’s still a little bit in smoothing over mode, even though she seems perfectly relaxed. “Just please not—”</p><p>
  <em>“The Crows Have Eyes!”</em>
</p><p>“Absolutely not.” Even as he protests he’s laughing harder than he has in months at the way Stevie is leaning over the side of the couch, trying to keep the remote out of his reach. “Stevie, no. I am somehow both too sober <em>and</em> too drunk to watch my mom right now.”</p><p>“Fine.” As she’s scrolling through the high art Interflix has to offer, she cuts him a cautious sideways look. “Feels just like our old Friday nights, huh? Except we’re less high.”</p><p>David mentally bats away the memory of how they used to spend their Friday nights, sprawled out on the floor of the apartment, the three of them giggly and relaxed. He tugs on a smile for her. “I can fix that.” Before she can reply he heads for the kitchen and returns with a plastic bag he usually only delves into before he goes out.</p><p>“Edible gummies?” She raises an eyebrow at him, but plucks an orange one out of the bag and pops it in her mouth. David chooses a blue one, and he chews it slowly as he seals the bag back up and tosses it down on the cushion between them.</p><p>They eat their dinner while waiting for the gummies to kick in, and Stevie puts on <em>Inception</em> despite his protests.</p><p>“I can barely understand this movie sober!”</p><p>“Maybe that says more about you than about weed.”</p><p>She wins the argument, because she always does, and he’s just starting to feel a pleasant fuzziness around the edges of his brain as the film starts playing.</p><p>It’s maybe halfway into the movie, although honestly the plot started slipping away from him about five minutes in, when Stevie brings her head to rest on his shoulder. For all of her standoffishness the rest of the time, she’s always been a cuddly stoner, grabbing onto whoever’s closest.</p><p>Patrick used to braid her hair.</p><p>David wonders if he does it still. If they still spend time together like this, without him, or if Patrick’s found someone else to occupy his Friday nights.</p><p>He thinks about Patrick dating someone else, teasing someone else with those wide eyes, making someone else feel like they’re the most important person in the room, and his stomach starts rolling.</p><p>He tells himself that maybe that’s the one-two-three punch of Chinese, whiskey, and gummies.</p><p>He knows it’s not.</p>
<hr/><p><em>Anchorman</em> follows <em>Inception,</em> and David thinks for about the five hundredth time since meeting her that Stevie should have her movie selection privileges permanently revoked. It’s close to midnight and almost half the whisky has disappeared by the time they decide to go to bed, and they half-cling to each other as they tackle the staircase. He generously lets Stevie use the bathroom first, and once she’s done he takes his turn. He can do his skincare in his sleep — or, more relevant to right now, crossfaded — and when he makes his way back to the bedroom, he’s not surprised that she’s already tucked herself up under the covers.</p><p>“How long are you here for?” He can’t believe he hasn’t thought to ask that until now.</p><p>She blinks sleepily at him. “Flying back to Toronto Sunday morning. Thought maybe you could take me sightseeing tomorrow.”</p><p>He can feel a smile stretching over his face. “I’d like that.”</p><p>He’s thinking about the best places to take her when she slices through the silence with a question he wasn’t expecting, though maybe he should have been. “David, are you happy here?”</p><p>He swallows down the truth bubbling up in his throat, but he can’t bring himself to lie to her either. Instead, he goes for the deflection that used to come so naturally to him. “When have I ever been happy?”</p><p>She sucks in a shuddering breath next to him and when she replies, her voice is trembling. “You were. We both know you were.”</p><p>The worst part is, she’s right. He <em>was.</em> He was happy in a way he hadn’t known he could be, which is why it tore him apart when things inevitably came crashing down around him.</p><p>Actually, that’s not the worst part. The worst part is that despite all the lies, he’s <em>still fucking in love with Patrick.</em> No matter how hard he tries — and he really has tried over the last six months — he can’t figure out how to <em>stop.</em></p><p>“David, Patrick is—”</p><p>“Don’t.” His voice is too loud, too harsh in the darkness, but it has the desired effect — it chokes off the rest of whatever she was going to say.</p><p>“Okay.” It’s the barest whisper, but it’s all the acknowledgement he needs. “Goodnight, David.”</p><p>“Goodnight.”</p>
<hr/><p>He doesn’t realise, at first, what jolts him awake. Stevie is breathing heavily beside him, not quite snoring, her hair fanned out on the pillow. It’s the clarity with which he can see her that makes him realise what woke him up in the first place and he turns to his bedside table, his phone lighting up the otherwise dark room.</p>
<p></p><div class="phone">
  <p class="messagebody">
<span class="header">Taylor</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="time"><b>Sat, 08 Dec,</b> 2:19 AM</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Taylor: </b></span>Come over?</span>
</p>
</div><p>For the first time since David met them, he really does consider saying no. He’s in that groggy half-awake state from crashing out after a lot of drinking, and besides, Stevie came all this way to see him. But not only is Taylor a hot fuck, they’re also the only person he’s been with since he arrived that has been able to make him forget about Patrick for more than two minutes.</p><p>And he needs that tonight more than ever.</p><p>He taps out a reply as he slips out of bed, trying not to jostle Stevie as he does so. He uses the light of his phone to grab some clothes and takes them into the bathroom, getting dressed as quickly and quietly as possible so as not to wake her, but when he steps back into the bedroom he almost jumps out of his skin when he finds her sitting up in the bed.</p><p>“What are you doing?” Her voice is slurred with sleep, but when David points his phone towards her he can see her eyes are bright and suspicious.</p><p>“Go back to sleep.” He grabs his wallet off the dresser and shoves it into the back pocket of his jeans. “I’ll be back before you wake up.”</p><p>“Back from where?” She picks up her phone, scrubbing a hand across her eyes as she looks at it. “David, where the fuck are you going at 2:30 in the morning?”</p><p>“Sorry, didn’t know I had a curfew.” It comes out harsher than he intended, and Stevie’s face slackens in sudden understanding.</p><p>“Are you seriously blowing me off to go get laid?”</p><p>And when the fuck did Stevie become such a prude? “Um, excuse me, I’m not <em>blowing you off.</em> You were supposed to be <em>asleep.</em> What the fuck is your problem?”</p><p>“My problem?” Stevie glares at him. “David, did you <em>plan</em> to sneak out in the middle of the night?”</p><p>He clenches his jaw at the judgement in her tone. “What, you’ve never heard of a booty call?”</p><p>“Uh, familiar with the concept, yes. But what, you get a text when you’re asleep and you just jump at it? You’re happy to just leave me here on my own?” Her gestures have been getting more wild as she talks but they suddenly settle, arms wrapping around her knees. “Jesus, David, I thought if there was one good thing you could take out of your relationship with Patrick it was a bit of fucking self-respect.”</p><p>Something twists unpleasantly in his gut at the words. It’s a low fucking blow, and Stevie doesn’t even look like she regrets making it. “I’m sorry, what makes you such a relationship expert all of a sudden?” He’s dimly aware that he’s yelling, but he can’t seem to rein it in. “Did I blink and miss two years of Emir hanging around before you found out you didn’t have the relationship you thought you did? Did you spend months talking to Jake’s parents thinking they knew you were in a long-term relationship with him only to be completely blindsided? Did I have an ex-fiancée I never told you about? What the fuck makes you think you have any idea about my self-respect?”</p><p>Somehow, it’s Stevie whispering his name that makes him realise he’s crying; he rubs his hands across his cheeks, trying to get the tears to stop falling. Stevie pulls back the blankets, her face soft as she steps towards him, and her pity is the last thing David wants right now. He thrusts his palm out and she stops, the look on her face so similar to the one Patrick had worn when David had stopped him in the same way at his birthday that he chokes back another sob.</p><p>“I’ll only be a couple of hours. Seriously, go back to sleep.”</p><p>Stevie folds her arms, her expression scornful. “What, you’re not invited to stay the night?”</p><p>David swallows. “I never stay the night.” Her arms drop at that, and before he can stop himself he adds: “This is the first time I’ve shared a bed with someone since, like, my first week here.”</p><p>“David…”</p><p>“Don’t.” He brushes past her towards the door. “I’ll try not to wake you up when I come back in.”</p>
<hr/><p>Taylor gets him out of his head. They always do. They remind him of Jake a little, actually — not selfish, exactly, but single-minded in taking their pleasure. It just so happens, though, that the things that get them off also get David off, which is why he keeps coming back time and time again. Three hours and a drawn out, earth-shattering orgasm later he’s back on the subway heading uptown, his tongue still a little tingly from the workout it got and his thighs aching. He spends the trip using the camera on his phone to try and get his hair back to a semblance of normalcy on the off-chance Stevie’s awake when he gets home; if he can, he’d like to avoid her pointed and unsubtle remarks about how much he loves having his hair pulled.</p><p>When he slips into the bedroom in his socks, though, having kicked off his shoes at the front door in order to make less noise, there’s no lump under the sheets at all. Assuming she’s in the bathroom he shrugs off his jacket, hanging it up in the closet before removing his belt, but when there’s still no sign of her he knocks on the bathroom door.</p><p>Silence.</p><p>He makes his way back over to the entry to the bedroom and flicks the switch there. Light spills over the rumpled bedsheets, but he can’t spot her phone or her duffel bag, and he bites his lip. He checks the spare room in case she just wanted space from him tonight, but the sheets in there are undisturbed. Wondering if maybe he missed her on his way through the house he heads back down the stairs, calling her name softly and getting no response.</p><p>The only thing in the living room is all the takeout containers still spread out across the coffee table, and the blanket they’d spread out over themselves while watching the movie bundled up in one corner of the couch. He makes his way through the dining room and into the kitchen, and still doesn’t find Stevie. In fact, there’s no sign she was ever here — until he glances over at the fridge and his eye catches the sticky note slapped in the middle of the door.</p><p><br/>
</p><p class="sticky">
  <em>I changed my flight. I’m going home.<br/>
<br/>
Get your shit together, David.</em>
</p><p><br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Until there's nothing left to recognise</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <em>She presses the heels of her hands into her eye sockets, because she absolutely refuses to be the cliché of sitting in the back seat of an Uber and crying on the way to the airport. There’s only one thing she’s absolutely sure of right now — she can’t fix this on her own. She’s running on about two hours’ sleep, so she’s not going to make any plans for today. But tomorrow, she’s going to pull in the big guns.</em>
</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Yes, I know I'm posting this earlier than normal -- Frozen Over starts releasing in a couple of days and for purely selfish reasons I didn't want to be posting right before those daily deluges. So the rest of the chapters will be released at this time, but still every other day.</p><p>Once again, thank you so much for all your wonderful comments! Keep clinging to that "angst with a happy ending" tag. We're getting there, I promise ❤️</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>Stevie fumes all the long car ride back to the airport, her driver wisely not trying to engage her in conversation. It’s not like she had <em>forgotten,</em> necessarily, what an asshole David was when he first arrived in town — but he’d changed enough that the sharpness of his old attitude had been sanded away until it just became something to make fun of him over.</p><p>It’s worse now. Not just because she knows he can be better than this, but because it’s so goddamn obvious in a way it wasn’t when she barely knew him that it’s nothing but a thin veneer of a defence mechanism. He’s using it to paper over the cracks his breakup with Patrick have left in him, and if there’s one thing Stevie learned from the Sherwood renovation it’s that using wallpaper on a damaged wall just leads to it crumbling out of sight and a giant fucking hole to be repaired when you finally strip the paper away again.</p><p>Which, okay, the metaphor gets out of hand quickly, but that’s not the point. The <em>point</em> is that after the way he left… after what she found while rummaging around in his bedroom… David is clearly pretty close to going off the rails, if he hasn’t already.</p><p>She presses the heels of her hands into her eye sockets, because she absolutely refuses to be the cliché of sitting in the back seat of an Uber and crying on the way to the airport. There’s only one thing she’s absolutely sure of right now — she can’t fix this on her own. She’s running on about two hours’ sleep, so she’s not going to make any plans for today. But tomorrow, she’s going to pull in the big guns.</p>
<hr/><p>When she knocks on Alexis’ door early the next morning, she’s no closer to a plan beyond <em>talk to Alexis, figure something out.</em></p><p>“Stevie!” Alexis flings the door open, greeting her with a smile. She sweeps her eyes over Stevie’s face, and whatever she sees there makes her expression fall. “Um, maybe you should come inside.” When Stevie flicks her gaze over Alexis’ shoulder, Alexis picks up on her hesitation and adds: “Twy’s at the café right now, so it’s just us.”</p><p>Her shoulders relaxing slightly, Stevie steps into the apartment and closes the door behind her before sinking down onto the couch, wringing her hands and trying to figure out how to begin.</p><p>“You look like you could use a coffee.”</p><p>Stevie blinks at her. She didn’t sleep anywhere near well enough last night to catch up on all the missed sleep of the night before, her mind too busy picking over her time in New York. “Coffee would be great, thanks.”</p><p>Alexis grins at her before heading for the kitchen. Stevie twists around on the sofa to watch across the breakfast bar as she starts fiddling with a surprisingly expensive-looking coffee maker, the smell of the beans permeating the air. Stevie closes her eyes, inhaling deeply, which means she starts a little when Alexis asks her a question over the sound of the coffee brewing.</p><p>“I thought you weren’t getting home until later today?”</p><p>“Um.” She digs her nails into the backs of her hands, the crescent-shaped sting giving her something to focus on. “I changed my flight. I actually got home yesterday.”</p><p>“Oh, how come?”</p><p>Stevie sucks in a deep breath. She hoped that once she got her, that the words would just… appear, but she can’t seem to spit them out. “When was the last time you heard from David?”</p><p>“Um…” Alexis trails off as she reaches up onto the shelf to grab a couple of mugs. “A few weeks, probably? Maybe a month? He’s, like, super-busy though.”</p><p><em>Fuck.</em> She was really hoping David might have reached out to his sister, at least, after Stevie disappeared into the night and left nothing but a furious sticky note behind. “Alexis, I’m really worried about him.”</p><p>Alexis laughs lightly as she starts filling their mugs with coffee. “I mean, it can’t be any worse than the year of mall pretzels. Or when James Van Der Beek broke up with him by keeping him off the guest list for the Dawson’s Creek wrap party. Or even when we first got here, oh my god, do you remember? David was <em>tragic,</em> poor thing.”</p><p>“It’s worse than that.”</p><p>Alexis’ hand freezes where she was just about to pick up one of the mugs. “What do you mean, worse?”</p><p>Stevie huffs out a sigh. “Any chance I could get some caffeine into my system first?”</p><p>“Yes, god, sorry.” Finally, Alexis brings the coffee through and Stevie takes hers gratefully; she gulps down half the mug in a few seconds, not caring that it’s burning her throat or that Alexis didn’t add sugar. Alexis sips her own drink slowly, her eyes fixed on Stevie until she finally speaks.</p><p>“He’s going out most nights. He looks exhausted. He can barely tolerate hearing Patrick’s <em>name.</em> He answered a booty call at 2am while I was <em>there,</em> just totally ditched me to go fuck someone who hit him up while he was asleep.” She grips her mug tightly, the heat pressing through her palms as she avoids Alexis’ gaze. “I couldn’t even start to guess how many people he’s slept with, but I went looking around his bedroom and bathroom and couldn’t find condoms.” She does look up then, and immediately wishes she hadn’t when she sees Alexis’ expression, pinched and terrified. She summons up her courage to add: “But I did find coke. And pills I didn’t really recognise.”</p><p>Alexis blinks twice. “Coke? You’re sure?”</p><p>“I mean, it’s possible he’s started keeping talcum powder in small plastic bags in his underwear drawer, I guess. But I don’t think that’s it.”</p><p>“Okay.” Alexis sets her mug down on the coffee table before leaning forward. “Stevie, this is important. Was he super-irritable?”</p><p>“Have you met David?”</p><p>The corner of Alexis’ mouth twitches. “Mm, good point. What about, like, sniffing a lot? Like he had a cold?”</p><p>Stevie shakes her head. “Not that I noticed.”</p><p>“Okay.” Alexis nods decisively. “So it’s probably not a serious problem yet, which is good, because I’m pretty sure neither of us can afford the rehab I sent Stavros to.”</p><p>Stevie drains the last of her coffee before putting the mug down. “He’s self-destructing, Alexis. And I have no idea how to fix it.”</p><p>Alexis slumps back into the couch. “God, and I thought Patrick and the store failing was tragic enough.”</p><p>Stevie freezes, her pulse racing in her ears. “Sorry, what?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“What about the store?”</p><p>Alexis’ eyes widen and she bites her lip. “Oh, um, I’m really not supposed to say anything.”</p><p>“Alexis.”</p><p>She sighs deeply. “Okay, fine.” She twists the hem of her dress in her hands, her eyes not meeting Stevie’s. “Patrick is thinking about not renewing the lease when it comes up.”</p><p>
  <em>“What?”</em>
</p><p>She nods, still looking down at her hands. “Ever since David left the numbers have been, like, really bad. He lost a couple of vendors, and without all the evening events and stuff…” She sucks in a shuddering breath. “I’ve done what I can, but Patrick was totally in denial about how bad it was until, like, a week ago.” She finally looks up, her eyes glistening. “Honestly, Stevie, I think there’s a part of him that still hopes David will come back. But if there’s no store…”</p><p>“If there’s no store, David might never come home.”</p><p>Stevie watches as Alexis’ expression shifts from worried to determined, and suddenly Stevie understands all those stories about her breaking out of hostage situations in a way she’s never been able to appreciate before. When Alexis next opens her mouth, her voice is perfectly calm. “Okay, so what do we do to fix it?”</p><p>Her determination is infectious; hope bubbles up in Stevie’s chest for the first time since she booked her ticket to New York. “I’ll talk to Patrick about the store. You go and see David, help him get his shit together.”</p>
<hr/><p>They wait until the weekend to enact their plan. Alexis books her flight to New York for Saturday afternoon, and when Stevie ‘casually’ drops by the store on Friday Alexis asks her loudly if she wouldn’t mind covering on Monday afternoon, please?</p><p>“I have a meeting with Interflix, and I couldn’t shift it.”</p><p>Alexis has inherited a lot of traits from her mother, but unfortunately a gift for acting isn’t one of them. Luckily Patrick is too lost in his own world to notice the stilted excuse, and he just nods vaguely when Stevie says she’ll be in by lunchtime so he can get away to Elmdale.</p><p>“Sure, that’s fine.”</p><p>Stevie and Alexis exchange a worried glance before Stevie speaks. “Okay, you’re coming over to my place tomorrow night.”</p><p>“Oh.” Patrick blinks. “Thanks, Stevie, but—”</p><p>“No buts.” When Patrick’s expression doesn’t shift, she switches to sarcastic. “Literally. We’re not going to the Dude Cave again, I promise.”</p><p>That does get a flicker of something almost resembling a smile on his face, which Stevie decides to take as a win. “Come on. You and me, dinner and drinks and trashy horror movies. I’m not taking no for an answer.”</p><p>Patrick just shakes his head. “Then I guess I have to say yes, huh?”</p><p>Stevie nods. “I expect you promptly at six, Brewer.”</p><p>It’s not like he has anything else going on. She knows he barely leaves his apartment except to go to work; Twyla said he stops in at the café for tea, but rarely for a meal; Alexis let slip while they were hashing out their plan that sometimes he goes too long without calling his parents and his mom calls the store looking for him; Ray told Alexis once when Patrick wasn’t in the store that he’s stopped coming to Ray’s game nights. Which means there’s absolutely no excuse for him to bail.</p><p>“All right.” He hands her the wine he’s just rung up for her and gives her something resembling a smile. “See you tomorrow.”</p>
<hr/><p>The next day she drives Alexis to Toronto, dropping her off at the airport at lunchtime before swinging by the liquor store on the way home to stock up on whiskey — if tonight goes the way she’s hoping it does, she’ll need extra supplies.</p><p>Patrick’s been in her apartment enough times that she doesn’t bother trying to clean it up much, though she does go to the trouble of throwing out the takeaway containers in the fridge. When there’s a knock on her door she glances down at her phone, rolling her eyes when she sees that it is indeed exactly 6pm, and she wonders if he’s been hovering outside just to be a troll.</p><p>Honestly, she kind of hopes so. It’s something the old Patrick — the pre-breakup Patrick — would have done, and both Stevie and David would have teased him relentlessly about it. When she opens the door and invites him in, Patrick smiles at her, but she can see the effort it takes him to paste it on and she barely holds back a wince. She hasn’t been paying enough attention but now that she’s looking she can see the bags under his eyes; it’s obvious he hasn’t had a haircut for a while and she’s guessing he hasn’t shaved in a few days either. Fuck, she hopes this works.</p><p>“I’ll order pizza, if you want to pick the movie?”</p><p>Patrick looks up at her from where he’s already flopped down onto the couch, but after a second he nods. “Horror, right?”</p><p>Stevie nods. David never let them watch horror films when the three of them hung out; he claimed it was because they were all poorly written and badly executed, but they all knew he was just not a fan of the jump scares. Patrick was far nicer about it than Stevie was, though.</p><p>She watches as he picks up the remote, waiting for him to start scrolling through Interflix before she dials the pizza place. She wants Patrick distracted while she orders and he is, apparently taking movie selection extremely seriously. When she hangs up she grabs two glasses off the shelf and picks up the whiskey, bringing it all through from the kitchen and dropping it unceremoniously on the coffee table before she glances at the screen.</p><p>
  <em>“Dead Silence?”</em>
</p><p>Patrick leans over to pour them both a glass. “The same director as the first <em>Saw,</em> apparently.” He stares down at one of the glasses, and Stevie’s pretty sure she knows what he’s thinking about — when David had poison oak and wouldn’t see either of them until it cleared up (never mind she had a rash too), the two of them had spent several David-free evenings marathoning the entire <em>Saw</em> franchise.</p><p>Patrick clears his throat and hands Stevie her glass, and before she can second-guess herself she clinks them together.</p><p>Patrick blinks at her. “Are we toasting something?”</p><p>For about a quarter of a second she thinks about saying something actually sentimental before she realises neither of them will be able to handle it, so instead she raises her glass in a mock toast. “To terrible movies and average pizza.”</p><p>Patrick chuckles. “Hear, hear.”</p><p>Stevie grabs the remote from where he dropped it between them on the couch cushions, and hits play.</p>
<hr/><p>By the time the pizza arrives, they’re already two whiskeys down and have started loudly criticising the decisions the characters onscreen are making. Stevie jumps up when she hears the knock, waving Patrick away when he tries to pull out his wallet and opening her front door to reveal a very bundled-up delivery driver. Wincing at how cold he looks, she hands over the cash and accepts the boxes in return, kicking the door shut before she brings the food over to the couch. Patrick has paused the film, and when he opens the pizza box he freezes for an almost imperceptible second.</p><p>Stevie plasters her most innocent expression on. “You like pepperoni extra cheese, right?” They both have David’s order memorised, would both teasingly try to convince him to branch out into different flavours even as he insisted his was the most correct. <em>Don’t question a New Yorker’s opinions on pizza,</em> he’d say, and Patrick would laughingly respond <em>I think it says Canada on your passport, though.</em></p><p>“Yup.” Patrick clears his throat, but doesn’t look at her as he carefully picks up a slice. “Yeah, this is fine.”</p><p>But Stevie notices he has two more glasses of whiskey in between pizza slices and garlic knots.</p>
<hr/><p>After <em>Dead Silence</em> (and Stevie’s never going to look at a ventriloquist dummy the same way again, thanks so much) they move on to <em>The Grudge</em> — the Sarah Michelle Gellar version, which Patrick derides as not being as creepy as the original. When he pauses the film halfway through to go to the bathroom Stevie yanks her hair out of its ponytail and arranges it over her face; when Patrick steps back into the room, a little unsteady on his feet, and sees her, he startles before recovering quickly enough to open his mouth and do a pitch-perfect imitation of the horrible croaking sound.</p><p>“Okay, okay, truce.” She ties her hair back up as he sits down, trying not to watch him too obviously as he laughs at her reaction. He grabs his glass and the bottle, but as he tries to top himself up some of the whiskey sloshes over the side in his unsteady hands.</p><p>“Shit.” He chuckles, resting the neck of the bottle carefully on the rim of his glass before trying again. “Ray is going to give me <em>so</em> much crap when I call him.”</p><p>“So don’t call him.” This wasn’t quite how she was intending to approach things tonight, but it’s as good an opening as any. “You can crash here for the night.”</p><p>He blinks blearily at her. “Oh, that’s— that’s really kind, Stevie, but I can’t put you out like that.”</p><p>“Why not?” She pours every ounce of the weird theatre lessons with Mrs Rose into not looking like this was planned. “It’s not like you haven’t stayed here before. Didn’t you lose your gay virginity in my bed?”</p><p>Patrick winces, taking another sip from his glass. “I don’t think I’d put it quite like that.”</p><p>Stevie pretends not to notice the way his voice cracks as she continues. “Okay, whatever. Tender lovemaking, whatever you want to call it. My point is, if you’ve had an actual orgasm here, crashing here for the night is probably okay.”</p><p>Patrick’s silent for a long moment, staring down at his glass. When he looks up at her there are unshed tears in his eyes, and if that wasn’t the entire point Stevie would run screaming at how goddamn loud and forlorn his expression is. “Stevie, I don’t— I can’t— I miss him so fucking much.”</p><p>Stevie whistles long and low before she can stop herself. “That’s one for the swear jar.” It’s an old joke, one about Patrick’s inability to say the word <em>fuck</em> — except, David had told her once with no small amount of smugness in his tone, in bed — and Patrick barks a laugh about half a second before his expression crumples. Stevie has just enough presence of mind to grab the glass out of his hand before he slumps back, palms pressed over his eyes as his shoulders start to heave with sobs. She puts his glass down on the coffee table and then slowly, carefully, pulls him into a hug.</p><p>She’s not <em>good</em> with this stuff, but luckily Patrick doesn’t seem to expect anything from her right now; he clings to the back of her shirt, slowly soaking her shoulder as he cries. She pats him awkwardly on the back and tries not to cringe as he finally pulls away, his face blotchy and eyes red.</p><p>“Sorry.” It’s a croaky, embarrassed apology, and she waves her hand.</p><p>“It’s fine. Seems like you needed it.” She eyes him carefully for a moment, trying to figure out how to keep him talking without sending him into another emotional spiral. Finally, she tries: “But is it really just a breakup from six months ago that’s bothering you?”</p><p>He scrubs a hand along the back of his neck, avoiding her gaze. “It’s not just— Stevie, I’ve fucked up the store.”</p><p><em>That’s two.</em> She decides not to make another joke right now, though, in case he stops talking. “What do you mean?”</p><p>“It’s failing.” Even though Alexis told her basically exactly that, the blunt words send a shockwave through her. She still remembers, vividly, walking around the old general store while David talked about all the things he would have done differently; remembers helping him with his business plan; remembers him coming back from Ray’s the day he met Patrick and sniping about <em>some guy</em> whose words he wildly misinterpreted. She helped first David and later David and Patrick set up the store, bought far too much hand cream on their opening day, drank bottle after bottle in there after closing. It’s hard to remember, now, a time when Rose Apothecary wasn’t a part of the town.</p><p>“Okay. So can’t we make it, you know, un-fail?”</p><p>She’s honestly not sure if Patrick hears her. He brings his eyes up to meet hers, something in his expression she can only describe as grief. “It’s the one thing I have left.” His voice is a ragged whisper, and despite the stillness in the room she has to lean forward a little to hear him properly. “I broke his trust, Stevie. I lost him, but despite everything, he still trusted me with his store. And now I’ve ruined that too.” His gaze turns a little wild. “He’ll never, ever forgive me for this. But at least he’s happy in New York.”</p><p>“He’s not happy in New York.” The words burst out of her before she can stop them, before she can think about how Patrick will react.</p><p>His brow furrows as he takes this in. “Sure he is.” His voice is slow and measured, as though he’s trying to explain a complicated concept to a young child. “Stevie, <em>you</em> told me. He’s got a great art job, he’s dating, he’s where he always wanted to be. He’s happy.”</p><p>“Okay, first of all, I didn’t say <em>dating.”</em> When Patrick’s eyes dart away from her, she realises too late that he didn’t misunderstand her at all, but was reframing it in his own mind. She powers on before he can dwell on it too much. “And he’s not happy at all. He’s miserable without you.”</p><p>Patrick stares at her, aghast. “No, that’s not— he can’t—”</p><p>“David’s my— David’s my person.” She’s never said the words <em>best friend,</em> to David or anyone, and she can’t quite bring herself to say them now. “I know him, and I know when he’s happy and when he’s putting on an act. And I’m telling you, he is not happy in New York.”</p><p>“Then why—” Patrick clears his throat, starts again. “Why would he pretend that he was? Why doesn’t he just come back?”</p><p>It’s Stevie’s turn to stare. “You know, for a smart guy you can be a real fucking idiot sometimes, Brewer.”</p><p>The corner of his lip quirks. “Funny thing — I actually worked that out about, oh, six or so months ago when I fucked up the best thing in my life.”</p><p>“Really on a roll with the swear jar tonight, huh?”</p><p>Patrick clenches his jaw. “Stevie.”</p><p>“Patrick.” When he just looks at her, waiting for her to continue, she takes a breath. “Dude, you humiliated him. You lied to him, you stomped his dignity into the ground. What did you <em>expect</em> him to do?”</p><p>“Fuck.”</p><p>“And now you’ve let the store go, too.”</p><p>Patrick closes his eyes. “I know I did. I know.”</p><p>Stevie sucks in another deep breath. “But I think you can fix it.”</p><p>His eyes fly open at that. His expression is mostly shock, but maybe just a tiny flicker of hope too. “The store? Or David?”</p><p>She shrugs. “Both, if you play your cards right.”</p><p>Patrick clamps his lips shut as he takes two long breaths in through his nose, clearly trying to steady himself. “Do you think he’d forgive me? Really?”</p><p>She chooses her next words carefully. “I think he’s still in love with you. But I also think he’s pretty messed up right now, and you’d have to really earn his forgiveness.”</p><p>“Stevie.” He says her name almost like a prayer, and she squirms back in the cushions as though she could physically get away from the raw emotion there. “Will you help me?”</p><p>She smirks at him. “Oh, I’m never any help.”</p><p>He laughs out loud at that; full and from the belly, and from the surprised look on his face she thinks it might be the first proper laugh he’s had in half a year. “Oh, I think you can be plenty helpful when you want to be.” Then his expression sobers as he looks at her. “Besides, you know him best. Just tell me what I need to do.”</p><p>Stevie nods slowly. She and Alexis hashed this out earlier, but she hasn’t exactly been slouching on the drinks herself tonight and she tries to crystallise it in her own head first. “We need to figure out the store first.” She doesn’t say, <em>if you let Rose Apothecary die he’ll never forgive you,</em> but she can see from the way he swallows hard as he nods that he already knows that. She also doesn’t tell him that David’s going to need some time to get his shit together before they can even think of convincing him to come back here. She knows there’s no way they’ll see David before the new year.</p><p>“Okay. I can reach out to some of the vendors, renegotiate the contracts—”</p><p>Stevie can feel her eyes glazing over. “Sure, okay. Or maybe there’s something more immediate you can do? Something this side of Christmas, so you get the holiday shopping?”</p><p>Patrick stares at her. “This side of— Stevie, it’s already the 15th. What can I possibly do this side of…” He trails off, staring into space for a long moment until Stevie finally gets sick of waiting and pokes him in the leg.</p><p>“Care to share with the class?”</p><p>A slow smile spreads across his face. “I mean, this happened once before, didn’t it? Early on. And I pulled something together in a couple of days then.”</p><p>Honestly, Stevie can’t believe neither her or Alexis thought of that in their brainstorming. “You sure you’re up for it when you don’t have David to serenade?” As soon as she’s spoken the words she wonders if they were a mistake but to her surprise, Patrick’s smile brightens.</p><p>“But I will be, won’t I?” There’s a look on his face she hasn’t seen for a long time; that open adoration that always used to stir up in her an uncomfortable combination of nausea and happiness and envy. “Whether he’s there or not, it will still be for him. And for our store.”</p><p>“Keep it in your pants, god.” Even as she says it she’s leaning over, the spontaneous hug almost as surprising to her as it is to Patrick. “It’s a really good plan.”</p>
<hr/><p>He does end up crashing out in her bed that night, but only after grabbing every scrap piece of paper he could find and scribbling all over them — ideas for the open mic night, people in town who might want to take part, vendors who could probably be convinced to comp them some products for food and drink. Stevie has been assigned the task of getting their permit, because there’s no way they can risk Ronnie’s enmity causing an issue at this late stage. If Stevie asks, though, and finds a way to make it clear it’s for David’s sake, she’s sure Ronnie can be persuaded. She promises to organise it first thing Monday morning, and Patrick actually pumps his fist in the air like some sort of sports maniac. When he freshens up in the bathroom before bed — she’s not the sort of person who keeps spare toothbrushes lying around, but he says he can make do with mouthwash, and Stevie wonders how the amount of whiskey he’s put away doesn’t already count — she can hear him whistling, and though she’ll never admit it to another soul as long as she lives she wipes away a tear.</p><p>When he crawls into bed, she turns to him with both hands tucked under her head and resists the urge to tell him about poking and prodding David in this very spot, trying to get him to confess his feelings for Patrick.</p><p>“You really think you can get the store back on track?”</p><p>“It’ll be a goddamn Christmas miracle if we do.” He grins at her, his face more relaxed than she’s seen it since before David left. She didn’t realise, until right now, how much stress he’s been carrying around. “But it’s the season for one of those, right?”</p><p>“Mrs Rose is the expert on Hallmark bullshit, not me.” But she looks at his face, his feelings bursting out of every pore, and there’s the tiniest part of her that thinks she just might believe in them.</p>
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<a name="section0009"><h2>9. I'm a mess to you my dear</h2></a>
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  <em>She doesn’t miss the money much, anymore. But she’d give up a whole lot to be able to get to David on her own terms, not on Air Canada’s.</em>
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</p><p>It’s a funny thing, flying into New York surrounded by strangers. Alexis used to visit this city all the time, but always on a private plane — usually the family jet, though sometimes on transport arranged by a consulate. But she’s never had to do the trip commercially, and it’s a total pain going through security and having to actually wait for the plane to be <em>ready</em> before she can go to her brother.</p><p>She’d thought for a minute she’d be flying to California for Christmas but then her mom’s shooting schedule had gotten messy, and David had brushed off the suggestion that he fly across the country too, and Patrick had decided to keep the store open until midday on Christmas Eve and open again on Boxing Day — she’s sure he was looking for an excuse to stay in town — and it just seemed easier to stay in Schitt’s Creek instead. Her parents had suggested trying again for early spring, and they’d all very carefully not hoped out loud that David would be more willing to make the trip by then.</p><p>She doesn’t miss the money much, anymore. But she’d give up a whole lot to be able to get to David on her own terms, not on Air Canada’s.</p><p>She lands at Newark late in the afternoon, her leg jiggling impatiently as she waits for the passengers in front of her to disembark. Once she’s off the plane she jumps straight in a cab and gives the driver David’s address, making polite chitchat right up until they go through the Lincoln Tunnel; the driver must sense the change in her mood, because he falls silent and leaves her to her worries.</p><p>The problem is, she really doesn’t know what David’s going to <em>do</em> when she arrives. She’s seen him a mess before — after shitty breakups, usually, or when a so-called friend sold him out to the paparazzi — but it’s never been after a period of him barely speaking to her. Usually it was the opposite; David sending her text after text while she was too distracted to respond, not thinking about how it would look to him.</p><p>When they pull up outside David’s front door, she probably over-tips the driver in a bid to see David as soon as possible. She’s thankful for her coat as she steps out of the car; she tightens it around her against the early evening chill and pulls her suitcase up the stairs behind her before she finally knocks on the door and waits.</p><p>And waits.</p><p>She knocks twice more in the next five minutes before finally accepting that David isn’t home. She’d like to think he’s just gone out for dinner, but if he’s gone into midtown she knows he’s unlikely to come home before heading out again for the night — it’s just too far to go. She looks around, shivering, as she thinks about what to do next; she’s just about to pull out her phone and text Klair when she has a better idea.</p><p>Reaching up to her scalp, she slides out one of the bobby pins securing her hair. Not long after she moved, after her parents went to LA, Twyla had asked to borrow a couple of her pins; when Alexis handed her a packet Twyla had taken them from her, confused. “Why do you use the ones with the sharp edges?” she’d asked. “Why not the ones that are rounded on the end?”</p><p>Alexis knows how she sounds, when she talks about her adventures. <em>Oh, Alexis and her crazy stories.</em> But the thing is, she learned a long time ago that when you laugh at something it hurts a whole lot less. So she’d told Twyla how she learned to pick a lock with a bobby pin, handcuffed to an ornate chair in the basement of a Sultan’s nephew, with a quick grin and a hair toss that Twy, as usual, had seen right through.</p><p>“That must have been really scary, Alexis.” Her voice had been soft, tentative, and Alexis had waved her off with studied casualness.</p><p>Compared to where she learned the trick, David’s front door is easy. She snaps the bobby pin in half so there’s a hook on the end of one piece, using that to apply pressure while the other half of the pin slides into the lock and sets the pins until she feels them snap into place. Then she turns the door handle and pushes the door open, suitcase in hand as she walks into the silent house. She runs her hand over the wall next to the door until she finds the light switch, flicking it on and blinking against the sudden onslaught of light. Then she pulls off her coat and hangs it on the hook next to the door before she takes her suitcase upstairs; the first room she peers into appears to be David’s, so she continues down the hall until she finds the spare bedroom and puts her suitcase at the end of the bed.</p><p>Then she goes on a mission.</p><p>She finds a few little bags of coke exactly where Stevie said they would be, in David’s underwear drawer — and ugh, she feels super skeevy rummaging around David’s boxer briefs to find them, because they are <em>not</em> the Bloomfields, thank you very much. Palming them in one hand she checks the other drawers but doesn’t find anything else, so she continues through to the bathroom and opens the medicine cabinet to reveal a stash of pills.</p><p>Stevie said she didn’t recognise most of these, but Alexis does. There’s a little bit of molly, which isn’t totally surprising, but also some benzos and oxy — neither of which have a prescription on the bottle. With the kind of deliberate, careful calm sweeping through her she hasn’t felt since the last time she had to jump out of a yacht and swim to shore without being caught she first rips open the bags of coke in her hand and tips the contents into the toilet bowl. Then she moves back to the cabinet, grabbing all the pill containers and unscrewing them one at a time. Blue pills and white go tumbling into the water, joining the powder, and once she’s sure everything is in there she closes the lid before she flushes — twice, three times, just like she did every time she was at a pill party at boarding school and the teachers came sniffing around, to make sure it all goes down. </p><p>It’s only after she’s lifted the lid again, making sure the water is clear and there’s no sign of anything illegal or untoward remaining in the bowl, that she sinks down onto the tiled floor and finally lets herself cry. </p>
<hr/><p>It’s well after 3:30am by the time David gets home, but despite the late hour, Alexis is wide awake. She got Chinese delivered for dinner because let’s face it, she’d be stupid not to take advantage of being back in actual civilisation again, but apart from that she’s spent the last ten hours or so pacing around the living room and fretting about her stupid big brother and his stupid self-destructive bullshit. </p><p>She’s never seen him like this before. Yes, she’s seen him sit on the couch and eat his body weight in carbs, watch romantic comedies, and cry after breakups — more times than she’d care to relive, sometimes in person and sometimes on the other end of a video call from whatever country she was touring at the time — but that was just… him being sad. She always thought it was a little overdramatic, really, considering the length and seriousness of his relationships, but she hadn’t said so. But still, that’s what he’d done; been dramatic, licked his wounds in private, and then bounced back. It’s exactly what he did before he moved here — hiding in the motel until he was ready to face the world again. Or at least, that’s what she’d thought he was doing.</p><p>Alexis has never seen him spin out like this; like he’s <em>trying</em> to implode.</p><p>She’d talked to Twyla about it after Stevie came to see her last weekend. Twy’s the smartest person she knows, and she’s far more perceptive than most people give her credit for. When she’d asked if Twyla had any theories about why David was pushing everyone away, being an asshole to Stevie and ignoring her phone calls, she’d gotten a knowing look in return.</p><p>“David was so secure in being loved by Patrick.” She’d bitten her lip as she said it, hands wrapped around a steaming mug of tea. “So when that got ripped out from under him… it probably made him doubt his love from everyone else, too.”</p><p>“But he has to know we love him.” Alexis had gripped her own mug until her knuckles started to turn white. “I mean, he has to, right?”</p><p>Twyla had just tilted her head. “If I was in David’s position, I’d probably have a really hard time believing it right now.”</p><p>She thinks about that when the door finally opens and her brother stumbles through it. He’s clearly high as a kite, pupils blown wide and his hair in a state he’d <em>never</em> willingly let it be seen in by strangers, and it takes him a good two seconds between seeing her sitting on the couch and his gaze actually focusing on her. </p><p>“Alexis?” He scrubs a hand across his eyes, as though he thinks she might disappear. “What the fuck are you doing here?”</p><p>“Um, drastic measures, David.” She stands up, smoothing her skirt over her legs. “You wouldn’t call me, so I had to come and make sure you weren’t, like, dead in a ditch or whatever.”</p><p>He glares at her. “Happy and healthy, as you can see. Can I call you a cab?”</p><p>Fury and fear rush through her all at once. David would <em>never</em> have kicked her out in the middle of the night before; if anything, he was annoyingly overprotective. She can’t quite tell if he means it or not, and she sets her jaw. “I thought you were the one running out of here at all hours of the night, not throwing other people out?”</p><p>“Oh, so Stevie sent you.” He shrugs his leather jacket off, tossing it haphazardly onto the table. “What, did you have a little meeting about me or something? I’m <em>fine.”</em></p><p>“This is not fine, David. Where were you?”</p><p>He stares at her. “At a club.”</p><p>“Oh, with all your friends?”</p><p>He snorts, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. It takes her a moment to remember why the gesture is so familiar before she has a sudden flash of Patrick doing the same thing, and a pang of empathy shoots through her stomach just before he speaks. “I know how to make friends.” He punctuates it with the kind of casual smirk he used to save for being photographed outside of clubs, but up close it looks brittle and fake.</p><p>“Yeah, I’m sure they’re great <em>friends</em>.” She sweeps her eyes over him carefully. “David, what did you take?”

</p><p>“Fuck off, Alexis.” It’s nothing he hasn’t said to her a hundred times before, but the genuine venom in his tone makes her take an involuntary step back, her calves pressing into the couch cushions. For the first time, it hits her that all of David’s dramatics about her not moving to New York might not have been dramatics at all.</p><p>“David, listen to yourself. You are clearly not fine.”</p><p>He rolls his eyes and despite the wide pupils and the stubble, it somehow makes him look like a petulant child. “Yes I am.”</p><p>“No, you’re not!” She can feel her voice getting louder, more shrill, but David doesn’t flinch as he screams back.</p><p>“Of course I’m fine! I can’t not be fine! I have no <em>fucking option</em> but to be fine, because I don’t… I don’t have any…” His hands start to shake and then his whole body follows suit, trembling violently as Alexis rushes over to grab him. He tries to shove her away as she grips his arms, but she plants her feet and holds the line.</p><p>“David…”</p><p>“Don’t <em>fucking touch me!”</em> His mouth is all twisted up and eyes panicked as he tries to shove her off again, but Alexis once had to arm wrestle for safe passage out of a very messed-up situation Stavros got them into, and she’s a lot stronger than she looks. She digs her fingernails into his arms but he doesn’t even seem to notice the nails pressing into his flesh as he fights her, and fights her, and fights her. “How dare you come here now, you didn’t come when you had the chance, you left me behind <em>again</em>, you— you chose him over me and I have <em>nothing!”</em></p><p>She chokes back a sob. “David, <em>stop!”</em></p><p>“I can’t.” He’s still pushing, right up until he’s clutching at her arms instead. “Alexis, I can’t, I can’t…” He tips forward in her arms, and he finally breaks.</p>
<hr/><p>He cries for a long, long time, wrapped up in Alexis’ arms on the floor of his living room. She doesn’t say anything, even when her foot starts to cramp from the awkward angle they collapsed in, even when he <em>wipes his nose</em> on her sleeve, which, ugh. When his sobs finally subside she hauls him to his feet, stumbling under his almost dead weight as he slumps against her. Somehow she gets him up the stairs and coaxes him into the shower while she tracks down clean underwear and a sleep shirt. She waits, perched nervously on the end of his bed, until he reappears and then she pulls back the sheets for him to climb into bed, tucking them around him.</p><p>As his eyes start to slip shut, she tries to sing a lullaby Adelina always used to send them off to sleep with. She only remembers every third word so there’s a lot of humming involved, and the smallest smile tugs at the corner of David’s lips.</p><p>“You’re tone-deaf, Alexis.” But he doesn’t ask her to stop, so she keeps going until his breathing evens out.</p>
<hr/><p>He spends all of Sunday in bed. Alexis checks on him every few hours, but his breathing stays steady and his face is relaxed and unharried, so she figures he needs the rest.</p>
<hr/><p>On Monday he gets up just long enough to call in sick to work. She hears him murmuring something about a stomach bug through the wall, and she hopes his boss doesn’t ask too many questions.</p><p>She orders bagels through Postmates; when she takes David one his eyes are closed, but his breathing is shallow and she’s 95 percent sure he’s faking sleep. When she pops her head back in later the bagel has disappeared, and David is just a lump under the covers.</p><p>She texts Stevie, updating her on the situation and getting filled in on the open mic plans in return. At least more progress is being made in Schitt’s Creek than it is in New York.</p>
<hr/><p>On Tuesday she goes shopping. She finds the cutest little grocer not far from David’s and she stocks up, unsure how long she needs to keep him fed. In the end she buys a few days’ worth of food, figuring she can always come back if she winds up having to stay a little longer.</p><p>Maybe she should stay for Christmas?</p><p>She should definitely stay for Christmas.</p><p>She half-expects David to have either left or be in the living room when she gets back, but when she heads upstairs she finds him exactly where she left him, covers drawn up over his head.</p><p>She bites her lip, leaving him alone for now.</p>
<hr/><p>It’s almost a shock when David appears at the foot of the stairs on Wednesday morning. His hair is damp and he’s gotten back into a different pair of pyjamas rather than actual clothes, but just the fact that he’s out of bed is progress as far as Alexis is concerned. She heard him on the phone to his boss again this morning, and she wonders exactly what David has told her.</p><p>She doesn’t say anything yet; she just gives him what she hopes is an encouraging smile as he sits down at the dining table. She turns on the coffee machine and watches out of the corner of her eye as he visibly relaxes at the smell.</p><p>“I’m not making your weird fancy drink for you.” She tosses him a grin and after a moment he returns it, far smaller but unmistakably there. He gets up, grumbling something about how cocoa powder isn’t actually that difficult as he rummages in the cupboard to pull it out. While he’s distracted by that Alexis pulls out everything she needs for breakfast, and it’s not until she starts cracking eggs that David finally turns around to look at her, coffee now in hand.</p><p>“Um, what are you doing?”</p><p>She rolls her eyes, biting down on her smile. She doesn’t want him to <em>know</em> how much she’s missed that judgy, snotty tone, but it turns out it’s much more her brother than the flatness of the last few days is. “I’m making breakfast, David. Someone has to.”</p><p>She can feel his gaze prickling on the side of her neck, disbelieving. “Since when do you cook?”</p><p>“Twy’s been teaching me.” Despite the fact that pancakes are a skill most people learn as kids, Alexis can’t help the swell of pride that wells up inside her at the words. Despite Twy being the best roommate she could ask for, Alexis is still, technically, for the first time in her life, totally independent. And it feels really, really good. “I thought I’d make pancakes for us.”</p><p>David opens his mouth, probably to make some acidic remark, but before he can his stomach gurgles loudly and reminds them both he’s existed on not much more than bagels and pretzels and toast for a few days now. His face flushes, and when he looks at her again it’s with a sheepish expression.</p><p>“Pancakes sound great. Thank you, Alexis.”</p>
<hr/><p>She only burns one, in the end, and thankfully it was after David had retreated to the dining table again so if she’s lucky he won’t have noticed. She slices up the fruit and arranges it carefully on the top of each stack, then adds the powdered sugar and finally drizzles the whole thing with maple syrup. By the time she’s done it looks like a work of art if she says so herself, and she can’t resist snapping just the quickest pic to show Twy when she gets home before she gathers up the cutlery in one hand and then picks up both plates. She carries them carefully through to where David is sitting, glancing at him just in time to catch the fleeting look of naked amazement on his face before he schools it into something a little more subdued.</p><p>“You can do this, and you’ve been ordering bagels in for the last three days?”</p><p>Alexis fixes him with her best glare. “I only make breakfast for people who are willing to talk to me.”</p><p>David freezes with his knife and fork in hand, hovering above the pancakes for a moment before he looks up at her and swallows hard. “Yeah. That’s— after we’ve eaten, okay?”</p><p>“I’m holding you to that.” She cuts off a bite-sized piece and pops it in her mouth while David nods his agreement, surprised by how light and fluffy it is.</p><p>She’s getting really good at this.</p>
<hr/><p>“Okay. I made you pancakes. Time to talk.”</p><p>David shrugs, not looking at her. “I’m fine.”</p><p>“Mmkay, no, we’re not doing that again.” When he glares at her, she waves him off. “David, you were in bed for <em>three days.</em> You basically had, like, a mom-in-the-closet level breakdown and you left Stevie alone in the middle of the night for a coked-up random. You’re clearly not fine.”</p><p>“Taylor isn't into coke; they know it overlaps badly with MDMA.” David’s protest comes out weak, and Alexis glares at him.</p><p>“David!”</p><p>“Fine!” He shoves his plate away, sending it skidding across the table. “What do you want to hear, Alexis? That I’m lonely? That I’m <em>miserable?”</em> He tosses his fork on top of the plate with a sudden snap, so violently that for a second Alexis is afraid he broke the plate. “Do you need me to actually say out loud that I fucking hate it here, even though I spent years itching to come back? Would that make it better, would that make it easier to know that <em>he fucking lied to me?”</em> He drops his head into his hands as Alexis sits frozen in place. David is crying, silently, his body shaking with a sadness so deep, Alexis can feel it like a phantom bruise. Eventually, he manages to whisper, “I miss him so much, Alexis.”</p><p>For just a beat, she considers pushing. <em>He can barely tolerate hearing Patrick’s name,</em> Stevie had told her, and she wonders how David would react if she dropped it into conversation now. But she doesn’t want to risk another three-day breakdown, so she resists the temptation. “He misses you, too.”</p><p>David shakes his head quickly. “I don’t want to hear it.”</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>There’s obviously something else itching to pour out of David’s mouth, and Alexis decides that the best way to draw it out is with silence. Finally, it bursts out of him all at once, wild and uncontained.</p><p>“It's not just him, okay? I actually miss Schitt’s Creek. Everyone was far too in everyone else’s business, and Roland is basically the worst, and the café wouldn’t know international cuisine if you threw an atlas at it, but I miss that stupid place so much.”</p><p>There’s a long silence while Alexis tries to figure out something reassuring to say. What comes out of her mouth is… not that. “You know, Twy’s put a lot of work into the menu since she took over ownership.” </p><p>David raises his head at that and looks at her, a spark of laughter in his eyes. “Oh, really? Do they still use cottage cheese in their lasagne?”</p><p>Alexis winces. “I’m still trying to bring her round on that one.”</p><p>To her shock, David laughs. It’s small, and it dies out almost as quickly as it appears, but it’s there.</p><p>“David, Schitt’s Creek misses you, too, you know.”</p><p>“Okay, mom. Thanks for that <em>Sunrise Bay</em> writer's room reject.”</p><p>“Don't be an asshole, David, or I'm taking the rest of the pancakes back.” Another small laugh, and Alexis feels like, if this is some kind of game, she might actually be winning. "And I'm serious. The town isn't the same without you there."</p><p>"Well, we both know that’s a lie. Schitt’s Creek hasn’t changed in the last hundred years and it won’t change in the next hundred.”</p><p>“You can always come home.” When he just stares at her, disbelief etched into every pore, she adds: “It’s like, <em>literally</em> your town, in case you’ve forgotten.”</p><p>He shakes his head. “How can I go back?” He looks at her with wide, glassy eyes. “I think it might kill me to see him thriving without me. To see the store thriving without me.”</p><p>She can feel the wince pulling at her features before she figures out how to reel it in, and of course David zeroes in on her expression immediately. “What?”</p><p>“What, David?”</p><p>“Don’t <em>what</em> me, <em>what</em> you? Why are you doing that with your face?”</p><p>Alexis sucks in a breath. She always was a terrible liar, which is how she once ended up giving Anna Paquin her Maserati in a game of poker. “Okay, don’t freak out.”</p><p>“Then don’t freak me out!”</p><p>“The thing is, David, they’re not thriving. Patrick or the store.”</p><p>David’s face goes dark. “What the fuck do you mean, the store isn’t <em>thriving?”</em></p><p>She thinks about saying <em>Patrick is fixing it,</em> but she’d rather not until she knows for sure. And besides, she’s not sure how reassuring David would find that right now. So instead, she tells him the truth as it currently stands. “We might have to let the lease lapse when it comes up.”</p><p>David stares at her, the muscle in his jaw twitching ominously. Finally he shoves the chair he’s sitting on back with a loud scraping shriek, slamming his palms into the table as he stands. “No.”</p><p>“No?” Alexis blinks up at him, bewildered by the sudden energy. “No what?”</p><p>“No, I’m not letting him drive my fucking store into the ground.”</p><p>“Okay, but it’s not technically your store anymore.”</p><p>From the murderous look he gives her it was either the wrong thing to say or exactly the right one; Alexis can’t quite tell yet. “I don’t give a single fuck whether it’s not technically my store anymore. If he can’t fucking keep it going, I’ll do it myself.” He marches up the stairs and Alexis rushes to follow him, teetering slightly on her heels as she tries to keep up while he takes the stairs two at a time.</p><p>“David? What are you <em>doing?”</em></p><p>He whirls around to look at her, his expression almost manic. “I’m packing. Can you book flights?”</p><p>“Flights?”</p><p>He rolls his eyes, stomping into his bedroom as he yells over his shoulder. “Yes, Alexis, flights. I think you’re familiar with them. Can you get us on one this afternoon?”</p><p>“Wait. You’re coming back with me?”</p><p>He pops his head around his bedroom door with an expression far more tremulous than she can ever remember seeing on his face. “Of course I’m coming back with you. Like you said, it’s my town, right?” He sets his jaw, suddenly determined. “I need to fix his fucking mess. I’m going home.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Every song was an anthem that the radio played for us</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <em>All in all, he’s tentatively hopeful that tonight will be exactly what Rose Apothecary needs to get back on track.</em>
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</p><p>Patrick hugs the speed limit all the way back from Elmdale on Thursday afternoon, singing along to the radio for the first time in months. He’d seriously considered cancelling his appointment, consumed with all the things he needs to get done before the open mic tonight — not least of which is deciding on a song to open with — but it was his last chance to get there until the new year and with everything going on, it seemed like a better idea to keep it. So he left Alexis in charge of the store like usual, gave her a to-do list, and is now hoping like hell she’s gotten enough things ticked off it while he’s been gone that he won’t be running around like a madman for the rest of the day. She can’t come tonight, some work meeting she couldn’t get out of, but she’s been a godsend helping him with the preparation.</p><p>He’s surprised by how relaxed he is right now, considering that not only have they thrown together the entire event in a few days, but it’s likely going to determine the future of the store. Stevie managed to get a permit out of Ronnie by uttering the magic words <em>turning the store around so David might come back,</em> and when that gossip reached Mel Sanderson she offered to supply the wine that would be exchanged for drink tickets for half price. Heather Warner had dropped by this morning with a batch of cheese she said wasn’t quite up to standard so she didn’t feel comfortable charging full price for it, and he’d had to close late yesterday after an influx of people came in just before closing all clamouring to get on the set list.</p><p>All in all, he’s tentatively hopeful that tonight will be exactly what Rose Apothecary needs to get back on track.</p><p>He’s so focused on his internal checklist when he walks through the door that it takes him a solid three seconds to realise what’s wrong with the scene in front of him. When he does his knees buckle, and he grips the doorknob behind him for support as he fights to remember how to breathe through the ringing in his ears.</p><p>It’s not Alexis standing behind the counter glowering at him.</p><p>Patrick hasn’t let himself think about seeing David again. Not really, not seriously. But if he had… if, every night since he stayed at Stevie’s, he’d let himself dream about what their reconciliation might look like… well. It would probably be one of those big rom-com gestures David loves so much — fly to New York, give him the big speech. In that scenario, he’d know exactly what to say.</p><p>“David.” It comes out in a rasp, his brain whirring at a million miles a minute, unable to settle on any singular thought beyond <em>David, David, David.</em> He didn’t— he can’t— how— “David, wha… whe…” He swallows hard, blinking furiously just in case — but when he opens his eyes again David is still in front of him, gorgeous and furious, paper strewn all over the counter and Patrick’s laptop open beside the cash register. He can’t form any words beyond the blindingly obvious. “You— you’re here.”</p><p>“One of us had to be.” Patrick has never heard David’s voice this cold, not even when he was talking about some of the worst people in his past. The tone makes his stomach roll. “You sure as fuck weren’t. Our store is falling apart and you just ran off to Elmdale for the afternoon? What is <em>wrong</em> with you?”</p><p>Patrick decides to skip past the giddiness welling up in him at hearing David say <em>our store</em> just for a moment, in favour of a more pressing question. “Alexis didn’t tell you where I was?”</p><p>For the first time since he walked in the door, David’s eyes flit away from his. “Okay, she might have tried, actually? And I think I cut her off. But it’s not like it matters, because I don’t see what you could possibly be doing that’s more important than—”</p><p>“Therapy.” It bursts out of him before he can stop it, and the word brings David up short mid-rant.</p><p>“Sorry, what?”</p><p>“I was at my therapy appointment.” He takes a cautious step forward and David tenses, so he decides to stay where he is for now. “Alexis watches the store on Monday and Thursday afternoons so I can go to therapy.”</p><p>David blinks.</p><p>Patrick waits.</p><p>“Therapy.”</p><p>“Yes, David.” Despite the tension radiating between them, Patrick can feel the teasing smile slip onto his face entirely without his permission. “I’m pretty sure you’ve heard of it.”</p><p>“Oh, I’ve heard of it.” David folds his arms, clenching his jaw. “I just can’t picture you— since when do you go to therapy?”</p><p>“Since about… three weeks after you left?” Suddenly desperate for something to do with his hands he walks over to the display of angora shawls, picking one up and shaking it out despite the fact that it’s already perfectly folded. “Turns out when you drive the love of your life away by keeping really important things bottled up, you suddenly feel inspired to sort your shit out.”</p><p>There’s a long, tense silence. When Patrick finally risks another glance in David’s direction he’s standing stock still and staring at Patrick with a slack jaw. Patrick takes the opportunity to rake his eyes up and down; David looks well-rested, if a little thinner than when he left, but his stubble is longer than his usual carefully cultivated look and the sleeves of his sweater seem to be stretched out, almost as though he’s been pulling at them.</p><p>“David.” He’d be embarrassed by how badly his voice cracks if he wasn’t so goddamn happy just being in the same room as David again. “I’ve really missed—”</p><p>“Nope.” David cuts him off loudly, both hands out in front of him as though he could physically push the words back into Patrick’s mouth. “No, we are absolutely not doing that. I’m here for the store.”</p><p>Patrick quite honestly couldn’t care less <em>why</em> David is here. He only cares that he <em>is.</em> “Okay, David.”</p><p>David cuts him a dark look at the overfamiliar teasing, picking up one of the pieces of paper from in front of him. “Right. I don’t know why the fuck you’ve changed some of these contracts, but—”</p><p>“Because I couldn’t <em>afford</em> them.” The shame of it prickles up his spine; the contracts were the top of his list for the new year, part of the plan he drunkenly scribbled down at Stevie’s last weekend. He’d just figured it was best to get through the holidays first, and use the bump in sales numbers they hopefully see tonight to convince the vendors they could go back to the arrangements they had before. In the meantime, though… “Most of them weren’t going to keep an exclusivity contract with us if we weren’t selling enough to make it worth their while. It was either change the contract or lose the vendors completely, and I think we can both agree which one of those is worse.”</p><p>“Hmph.” Patrick spent two years cataloguing David’s hundreds of microexpressions, from before they were even dating, which means that he’s very familiar with this one — David knows Patrick is right, and is refusing to admit it. “Well, we’ll be changing <em>those</em> back.”</p><p>“Are you back for good, then?” He doesn’t actually realise he’s asked the question out loud until David whips his head up, startled and a little lost.</p><p>“Um, I don’t— I told my boss I’d be here through New Year’s, but I’m not—” He cuts himself off with a sharp shake of the head, and when he speaks again his voice is much icier. “I suppose it depends on how long it takes to sort all this out. Quite frankly, I don’t give a fuck that I’m not an owner anymore. Someone has to fix this mess.”</p><p>Patrick sucks in a breath, focusing as hard as he can on keeping his voice steady. The old impulse is still there, the one to brush past it and <em>address it later,</em> but he hasn’t spent six months trying to unpack that urge for nothing. “Uh, so, full disclosure. There’s something I haven’t told you; something you need to know.”</p><p>David goes perfectly still as the blood drains from his face. Momentarily confused, Patrick replays the sentence in his head before rushing to continue, not wanting to give the wrong impression. “It’s not something from our relationship, David. But I don’t want to keep anything from you anymore. I learned my lesson.”</p><p>David narrows his eyes. “Mmkay, I don’t think we need to— we broke up. I don’t need to hear about you hooking up with Jake, or dating some guy from your gym, or finding the glory hole in the end stall at the Dude Cave, or—”</p><p>“No, that’s not— wait, there’s a <em>glory hole</em> at the Dude Cave?” Patrick wrinkles his nose for a second, wondering how safe or sanitary that could possibly be, before he shoves that tangent off to the side and barrels ahead. “And this isn’t about me. It’s about the store.”</p><p>David clamps his lips shut, clearly bracing himself as he gestures for Patrick to continue; Patrick clenches and unclenches his hands as he musters up the courage to get the words out.</p><p>“I never took your name off the paperwork.”</p><p>“Off—” David shakes his head quickly as though trying to dislodge something. “What?”</p><p>Patrick shoves his hands in his pockets, suddenly nervous. David was the one who wanted out, after all; Patrick had just never been able to force himself to take that final, irrevocable step. It’s actually something he’s been working on with his therapist. “You’re still a partner in Rose Apothecary.”</p><p>“I don’t— how?” David’s expression is nothing short of shell-shocked. “You paid me out.”</p><p>“I did pay you out.” He’s watching David carefully, trying to figure out if his reaction is positive or negative. “I just… never signed the paperwork to take your name off.”</p><p>“You…” David’s eyes dart around the store before they land back on him, furious. “What if something had happened and I’d still been liable?”</p><p>Patrick swears he can feel the bottom dropping out of his stomach. “David, I never would have—” He cuts himself off, knowing he’s defending the indefensible. “You’re right, it was selfish. I’m so sorry.”</p><p>David’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard; involuntarily, Patrick’s eyes trace the movement. “What do you mean, it was selfish?”</p><p>Patrick yanks one hand out of his jeans to run it along the back of his neck, his gaze dropping sheepishly to the floor. “I guess… a part of me always held out hope that you’d come back.”</p><p>He looks up just in time to watch David squeeze his eyes shut and tilt his head back towards the ceiling. It’s something Patrick has seen him do a hundred times; he’s overwhelmed, Patrick knows, and he can only hope against hope it’s in a good way. He lets the grin bubbling up inside him take over his face unchecked, and when David finally straightens up again, it looks like he’s fighting an answering smile.</p><p>“Mmkay. So you <em>really</em> don’t have an excuse not to listen to me, then, do you?” The tone is acerbic, but his expression is… not.</p><p>Patrick will take it.</p><p>He decides to give them both a breather. “I think I need a tea before we go through all this. Can I get you a coffee?”</p><p>“Um.” David’s eyes flit between him and the café across the road for a moment. “Yeah, that would— that would be good.” He hesitates for a moment. “Um, a caramel macchiato—”</p><p>“Skim, two sweeteners, and a sprinkle of cocoa powder. I remember.” He can’t seriously think Patrick has forgotten his order, can he? But apparently he can, because his eyes widen at Patrick’s words. “I mean— unless you’ve changed it, of course.”</p><p>“I haven’t.”</p><p>“Good.” He grins, giving David a dorky little wave that he immediately regrets before grasping the door handle. It’s not until he’s halfway across the road that he lets the almost hysterical laugh of relief that’s been bubbling in his stomach slip free, and he doesn’t even care that a woman sitting outside the café hears him and gives him a strange look.</p><p>He didn’t consider until he steps up to the counter that placing this particular order is going to raise some eyebrows — but of course, Twyla must already know from Alexis that David is back, because she just gives him a small smile and a wink as she starts to make the drinks. Eventually, he knows, the rumour mill will catch on to David’s return, but it would be great if it could hold off just a little longer while Patrick finds his footing.</p>
<hr/><p>Drinks in hand, they work their way through every single vendor file in relative silence, interrupted only by David demanding that Patrick justify the changes he’s made to each agreement before muttering under his breath as he scribbles in the margins of the paperwork. It’s not until they get to Brenda Matherson’s file that David hesitates, shooting Patrick a curious look.</p><p>“You didn’t cancel this one?”</p><p>“Um.” Patrick blinks. “No? I don’t— why would I have?”</p><p>“Patrick.” David appears to be fighting for patience, which is a concession he rarely makes. Patrick’s impressed. “You always hated us stocking those cat hair scarves. You told me, specifically, that they were a lawsuit waiting to happen if we ever had a customer with a severe allergy. I would have thought this would be the first to go.”</p><p>Patrick looks away, fiddling with the manila folder in front of him. “Oh.” He shrugs, but the movement is stilted and, he’s sure, incredibly unnatural-looking. “It was also one of the first contracts you signed.” He takes a steadying breath before he looks up and catches David’s eye, an unreadable expression on his face. “I was feeling sentimental, I guess. I don’t know.”</p><p>“Doesn’t really sound like the sort of decision the numbers guy would make.”</p><p>Patrick laughs shortly. “Yeah, well. I’ve had to be the numbers guy <em>and</em> the creative guy, recently.”</p><p>David looks at him for a long time. When he speaks again, it’s not at all what Patrick is expecting. “I went to a baseball game.”</p><p>It takes several seconds for the words to arrange themselves in Patrick’s head in a way that makes sense. “You— what?”</p><p>“Your bluebirds were playing a game at Yankee Stadium. So I went.”</p><p>“Blue Jays, David.” He knows full well that David knows the name of the team, that the misnaming is an olive branch of sorts, dripping in sarcasm though it is. “You went to a Jays game? When?”</p><p>“Um.” David scrunches up his nose as he tries to remember, and Patrick has to grip the edge of the counter to stop himself from leaning over to kiss it. “Like, mid-September, maybe? They had hot dogs to die for. Plus, your team won.” He bites his lip, looks away. “I figured you were probably watching.”</p><p>Something dangerously akin to hope is bubbling up in Patrick’s stomach as David continues to avoid his eyes. David went to a game he’s never shown any interest in, in person, and thought about Patrick watching from home. Not only that, but David is telling him now, today, that he did that. Patrick isn’t sure exactly what it means, yet, but it means <em>something.</em></p><p>He hasn’t even let himself think about the <em>win David back</em> part of the spreadsheet yet, too hyper-focused on the <em>make the store successful again</em> tab. But he’s thinking about it now.</p><p>After a moment, David clears his throat and straightens his spine. “Anyway. Okay. It’s probably too late to start calling vendors now, so I’ll do that tomorrow. What else are you doing to try to sort this out?”</p><p>Patrick reaches past him, their arms brushing lightly as he picks up the laptop from David’s other side. Patrick feels the barely-there touch ricochet through him, and from the way David’s breath hitches he’s similarly affected; neither of them acknowledges it though, and Patrick navigates away from the cash flow spreadsheet David had pulled up and clicks into the action plan for the store. He hands the laptop to David, and this time he lets their hands brush together deliberately just to see what David will do.</p><p>David doesn’t pull away, but his lips twist in a way that makes Patrick think maybe he’s not being as subtle as he wants to be. He watches David’s face as he reads down the task list, murmuring commentary to himself as he goes.</p><p>“Christmas Eve hours, ew, ugh, fine. Bulk discounts, sure, makes sense. Social media advertising to the wider Elms, okay. Open mic—” He stutters to a stop, surprise written all over his face. “Wait, did you stop doing open mics?”</p><p>Patrick nods slowly. “We haven’t had one since— um. Since you left.”</p><p>David stares blankly at the screen. “Oh.”</p><p>“But they’re starting again tonight.”</p><p>David whips around on his stool to look at him. “Tonight.”</p><p>Patrick plasters his most earnest expression on his face as he finally realises the source of David’s discomfort. “Alexis didn’t tell you?”</p><p>“She did not.” A muscle in David’s jaw twitches, and Patrick’s fingertips itch to soothe it. His hands find their way back into his pockets instead, safely ensconced so he can’t do anything that will make David uncomfortable.</p><p>“Well, then I expect you back here promptly at seven.”</p><p>“Um, no.” David’s eyes go wide as he stares at Patrick, horror-struck. “I don’t come to open mic nights anymore. That was our deal.”</p><p>“Pretty sure that was a deal I made with my boyfriend, not my business partner.”</p><p>David clamps his lips together tightly as he looks away. He’s clearly not ready to be teased, at least not by Patrick, so Patrick tries a different approach.</p><p>“David, you left a real hole in this place when you left.” His voice is raw, and he wills it to stay steady. “Not just the store, but the entire town. If people hear you’re back…”</p><p>David blinks, but not quite quickly enough to catch the tear slipping down his cheek. He brushes it away angrily, and Patrick politely pretends not to notice. “So you want to use me as your draw to get people through the door, then.”</p><p>“If I could convince you to perform, I would.” At the filthy look David throws him, he just smirks. “But barring that, yes, I think if you came it would make a tremendous difference.” He pauses, one deliberate beat before he continues. “To the store.”</p><p>David nods slowly, the tiniest smile flickering at the corner of his lips. “Okay, well, I should probably head back to Stevie’s so I can get ready to come back tonight. To support the store.”</p><p>He gets up, carefully stacking the vendor files into a neat pile before walking around Patrick and towards the door. “I’ll see you tonight, then, I guess.”</p><p>Patrick can’t take his eyes off him. “I’m really glad you’re back, David.”</p><p>David opens and shuts his mouth a couple of times, hand on the doorknob. When he finally speaks, it’s barely audible. “Thanks. I— thanks.”</p><p>Patrick waits until the door swings closed to add: “I love you.”</p><p>Even if David doesn’t — or doesn’t want to — hear him, he’s really missed saying it.</p>
<hr/><p>As soon as the clock ticks over to closing time Patrick shuts the store faster than he ever has, helped somewhat by the fact that he doesn’t have to do the end of day sales report until after the event tonight. Alexis had texted him just after David left, so he assumes David told her when he was leaving the store (and probably yelled at her for not giving him a heads up about the open mic night), confirming that she ticked off everything he’d asked her to organise for tonight from home while he and David were talking, so there’s nothing left for him to do except get changed… and decide what he’s singing.</p><p>He races home, mentally flicking through his CD collection and Spotify playlists as he drives. His tentative plan was to play something light, generic, probably Christmassy — but his tentative plan did not account for David Rose being in the room as he sang, hurt and distant and yet somehow, miraculously, here. It’s an opportunity he can’t pass up, and he has to get it exactly right.</p><p>As soon as he walks in the door, he heads for the bathroom, wanting to get a shower out of the way first in case he runs out of time later. He strips down and steps under the hot spray, then tries to figure out how he’s forgotten every song he’s ever heard as he scrubs shampoo through his hair. As soon as he’s clean he’s out again, wrapping a towel around his waist while he shaves as quickly as he dares. The last thing he needs is to show up tonight with a nick in his skin.</p><p>Goddammit, he really wants to look good tonight. He hasn’t cared about looking good in over six months. After careful deliberation, he takes out a green shirt that always made David’s eyes light up in appreciation, and his tightest jeans.</p><p>Whatever it takes.</p><p>After hesitating for a moment, he grabs one more thing. It’s not something he’d normally wear, but this isn’t a normal night.</p><p>Once Patrick is dressed he sits down on his bed, iPad and CD cases and sheet music all strewn around him, guitar case open at his side, and CD player placed unceremoniously on his bedside table. He considers and quickly decides against singing ‘The Best’ again, and discards Mariah for the same reason — it’s not a declaration of love like it was the last time he got up and sang his heart out to David and the town, even if he chickened out of saying the words at the time. It’s a public apology, a mea culpa surrounded by hope and promises, and he’s only going to get one chance at it. He has to get it absolutely, one hundred percent right.</p><p>Album after album goes into the player and quickly gets pulled out again with a huff. None of them are right, and he’s just about to give up when he flicks over the last leaf of the CD holder and sees an album he forgot he had.</p><p>(He might have accidentally stolen it from Rachel, actually, the last time they broke up. Whoops.)</p><p>He pops it carefully in the CD player, pressing play before he leans back against the mattress and closes his eyes as the opening notes play. He only makes it a minute in before he feels the tears poking insistently at his eyelids and he lets them fall, every lyric building on the last.</p><p>It’s <em>perfect.</em> It’s precisely what he wanted, and he has — he picks up his phone to check — seventy minutes to learn it.</p><p>No pressure.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Just in case you're looking at the fact that there are two chapters still to go and feeling nervous, chapter 12 is an epilogue 😀</p>
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<a name="section0011"><h2>11. All that's left of you and me is playlists and apologies</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
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  <em>David walks all the way back to Stevie’s in a fog, the remnants of a snowfall from the day before he arrived crunching under his feet. He’d told himself that he was prepared to come face to face with Patrick again, to shove down all the hurt and betrayal in order to do what was necessary for the store.</em>
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  <em>What he wasn’t prepared for was for all of that pain to be… well, muted.</em>
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</p><p>David walks all the way back to Stevie’s in a fog, the remnants of a snowfall from the day before he arrived crunching under his feet. He’d told himself that he was prepared to come face to face with Patrick again, to shove down all the hurt and betrayal in order to do what was necessary for the store.</p><p>What he wasn’t prepared for was for all of that pain to be… well, muted. It’s still there, of course — Patrick still lied to him, over and over for two years — but it’s been tempered a little by time and distance. The fact that Patrick slipped so naturally into teasing him helped, as did the revelation that Patrick has been going to therapy. Then Patrick had called him <em>the love of my life</em> as though it was that easy; as though it was still true.</p><p>After the disastrous surprise party, Patrick had apologised over and over, and it wasn’t enough.</p><p>Knowing he’s been going to therapy, that he’s been unpacking <em>why</em> he hid things from David… that tips the scales a little.</p><p>Fractionally.</p><p>And then.</p><p>To hear that he’s still an owner of Rose Apothecary… it was a little like when he was first granted the lease for the store; he couldn’t breathe past that overwhelming, stomach-flipping <em>maybe I can actually have this.</em></p><p>‘This’ being the store, of course… but.</p><p>Well.</p><p>There were a lot of things he thought he’d lost for good when he left Schitt’s Creek. But maybe… maybe not everything.</p>
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<span class="header">Alexis</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="time"><b>Thu, 20 Dec,</b> 4:17 PM</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>I'm assuming you knew about this open mic????</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Alexis: </b></span>Oooooh yay he told you!</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>You suck</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>See you there</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Alexis: </b></span>I actually have a stupid work meeting 😭😭😭😭</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Alexis: </b></span>I'm so mad I really wanted to be there</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Alexis: </b></span>Good luck David! ❤️</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Wait, you think I'm going to need luck???????</span><br/>
<span class="readreceipt"><b>Read</b> 4:53 PM</span>
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</div><hr/><p>Stevie takes one look at him when he walks through her front door and grabs the whiskey. They settle on the couch, each with a glass in hand, and she pours them each a generous serving before placing the bottle back on the coffee table and clinking their glasses together gently.</p><p>It’s not until he’s knocked it back that she speaks, her voice cautious — they’re still circling each other a little carefully, even after David apologised to her basically all the way back from Toronto last night, though Alexis’ constant interjections didn’t exactly make the conversation <em>less</em> awkward. “How was it?”</p><p>He shrugs. “I think we can get the store back on track.”</p><p>“Oh, yeah, I was really curious about the <em>store.”</em></p><p>David stares into his glass, swirls the liquid around the bottom so he doesn’t have to look at her, and fights to keep his voice light. “Did you know he’s hosting an open mic night tonight?”</p><p>The long silence from his left is all the answer he needs. “You couldn’t have given me a bit of fucking warning?”</p><p>“I could have, but that would have been much less fun for me.” When David whips his head around in annoyance she’s looking straight back at him, a small smirk on her lips.</p><p>God, he’s missed her. “You’re an asshole.”</p><p>“And proud of it.” She tips her head back, swallowing the rest of her drink before setting her glass down on the coffee table with a loud thunk. “Okay. After everything you pulled when I was in New York you have exactly twenty seconds of sincerity left from me ever, so pay attention.”</p><p>Despite himself David sits up at her words, spine straight and skin crackling with some sort of anticipatory impatience he can’t explain. “Okay…”</p><p>“Patrick knows how badly he fucked up with you. He’s been working on his bullshit, he understands why he did it, and he won’t be making that mistake again.” She pokes his leg, eyes surprisingly intense. “You were happy, with him. I think you could be happy again.”</p><p>David nods slowly as he takes this in. “I—”</p><p>“Nope, twenty seconds are up, sorry.” She pokes him again in exactly the same place, and he flinches away from her touch. She’s a menace, and he knows they’re going to be okay. “Get in the shower, David.”</p><p>“But we’ve still got—” He picks up his phone and sees the time. “Fuck, okay. Shit.” He races over to his suitcase, on the floor at the foot of Stevie’s bed, and hauls it up onto the mattress so he doesn’t have to sit on her floor. He threw a bunch of clothes in here pretty much at random when he packed, so he has no idea what his options are; he grabs a t-shirt, underwear, and his Neil Barrett jeans, and then he starts picking anxiously through his sweaters, wishing he’d foreseen this when he left.</p><p>Because the thing is, Patrick always understood in a way most people don’t just how much David communicates through his clothes, and he knows whatever he wears tonight will broadcast a message. He just needs to make sure it’s the right one.</p><p>Two Givenchy sweaters and a Dries Van Noten get discarded before he finally pulls something out that makes him send up a silent prayer of gratitude to the sweater gods. It’s an Off-White sweatshirt he hasn’t worn in a long time, but right now it definitely feels like the right call.</p><p>The fact that he wore a sweater covered in flames to watch Patrick sing once before is not lost on him.</p>
<hr/><p>For once in his life, he’s precisely on time, although that’s mostly because Stevie threatened to drag him out the door in whatever state of dress he found himself in when it was time to leave. He walks in the door of Rose Apothecary at 6:59pm and, like a goddamn movie cliché, everyone in the room seems to freeze as he makes his entrance. He half-expects to hear a record scratch in the background somewhere — he’d thought Patrick was fucking with him when he said David would be a draw, but the way he’s being looked at now he knows two things: the whole damn town now knows he’s back, and a not insignificant number of them have come to see for themselves. The stunned silence only lasts a second that feels like three hours before a loud buzz fills the room, and suddenly he finds himself surrounded with people, only some of whom he could name if his life depended on it.</p><p>“David, it’s so good to see you!”</p><p>“Are you finally moving back to Schitt’s Creek?”</p><p>“Did you have fun in New York?”</p><p>David winces at that last one, looking around wildly for Stevie, but she’s already taken a handful of drink tickets over to the counter where Twyla is serving wine.</p><p><em>Traitor,</em> he thinks, and then immediately retracts it when she weaves her way back through the crowd and hands him one of the plastic cups.</p><p>“Um, while you were over there did you happen to see—”</p><p>“Hey, how’s everybody doing?” Despite the fact that the speaker isn’t actually that loud, it makes David jump; when he peeks over the now-applauding crowd, he can indeed see Patrick. He’s standing on stage in front of the microphone with a small smile and watching as people start to find a seat, his guitar on its little stand behind him. David leans back against the counter and Patrick’s eyes drift over to him, expression stretching into a grin as he blatantly looks over David’s outfit; David checks him out in return, trying to be subtle but probably failing and he can’t bring himself to care. Patrick’s jeans are exceptionally tight, hugging his thighs in a way that makes David want to shove him into the back room and muscle his way between them; the green shirt looks gorgeous on him, and he’s got the sleeves rolled up in preparation to play, which means he’s showing off a pleasant set of forearms, and…</p><p>David’s breath catches in his throat.</p><p>There on Patrick’s left wrist, plain as day, is the bracelet he bought David six months ago. The one David boxed up and returned to him the day they broke up.</p><p>He kept it.</p><p>He kept it, and David doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry or kiss him senseless or duck into the bathroom and throw up from the nerves currently making a nuisance of themselves in his stomach.</p><p>Patrick’s up on stage, in their store, wearing his tightest jeans and an apology bracelet.</p><p>What the fuck is he going to <em>sing?</em></p><p>He tries to catch Patrick’s eye but Patrick is looking away from him, over the seating area where everyone is assembled. There’s a tiny smile tucked into the corner of his mouth, though, and David knows he knows at least some of what is running through David’s mind right now, because Patrick is a troll. He’s a horrible, awful troll, and David…</p><p>Loves him.</p><p>He wasn’t able to admit that to himself last time he was in this position, not even when Patrick looked straight at him and sang <em>speak the language of love like you know what it means.</em> But he can now. Even if, for some reason, they don’t… David will know. He’ll know, just once, what it’s like to be serenaded by the person you love.</p><p>“Thanks so much for coming out for this. I know it’s been a little while, but I think these nights are going to be back on the schedule from now on.” There are a few covert glances sent David’s way at that, which he does his best to ignore. “I’m going to tune up this little baby, and then we’ll get this party started.”</p><p>Patrick picks up his guitar and slips the strap carefully over his head before he starts plucking a tune out on the strings, one David doesn’t recognise. As he leans in close to the microphone David has such a strong sense of déjà vu he’s almost knocked off his feet, but when Patrick opens his mouth to speak his eyes stay firmly fixed where people are seated.</p><p>“You know, I don’t set much store in miracles, or fate.” David sucks in a breath, but Patrick’s gaze doesn’t come anywhere near him as he continues to pick away at the strings. “But I am a big believer in timing. Sometimes you’re just in the right place at the right time. Sometimes you see a town name on a job board that makes you smile. And sometimes, you decide to get a fresh start and arrive in town just in time to meet a guy who needs a little help to set up his business.”</p><p>Almost all sets of eyes in the room shoot around to David, with one glaring exception; Patrick keeps looking deliberately at the crowd, and David suddenly, wildly, wishes his mom was here to offer to pull the fire alarm again. While everyone is staring at him as though he’s a goddamn sideshow exhibition Patrick shifts the tune he’s playing into something else, something David <em>almost</em> recognises. It’s on the tip of his… brain? That’s not a saying.</p><p>It’s <em>right there.</em> He knows it. He’s sure he does.</p><p>“I would like to dedicate this song to a very special someone in my life.” The words are the same, and Patrick finally, <em>finally</em> looks directly at him with those loud eyes and David knows, he knows, that whatever is about to happen is going to destroy him in the best way.</p><p>And then Patrick opens his mouth to start singing, and everything falls away.</p><p>
  <em>“Don't know much about your life<br/>
Don't know much about your world, but<br/>
Don't wanna be alone tonight<br/>
On this planet they call Earth.”</em>
</p><p>David clamps his hands over his mouth, trying and failing to muffle the sob rising in his throat. That awful, amazing man is singing Céline Dion. To him. To apologise.</p><p>
  <em>“You don't know about my past, and<br/>
I don't have a future figured out<br/>
And maybe this is going too fast<br/>
And maybe it's not meant to last.”</em>
</p><p>Just when he thinks his knees are going to give out, there’s a shoulder under his arm propping him up; he has to tear his gaze away from Patrick’s face. When he does, he sees Stevie looking at him with a mixture of fondness and exasperation as she pinches him sharply on the hip. It makes him jump, but it also makes his legs feel the tiniest bit less like jelly, so he’ll wait until later to get her back.</p><p>
  <em>“But what do you say to taking chances?<br/>
What do you say to jumping off the edge?<br/>
Never knowing if there's solid ground below<br/>
Or a hand to hold, or hell to pay<br/>
What do you say?<br/>
What do you say?”</em>
</p><p>For all that he wouldn’t look at David before he started singing, now Patrick’s gaze doesn’t move away. David is pinned into place by the intensity of it, the raw hopefulness of Patrick’s expression as he asks the question finally setting free the tears that have been pricking at the corners of David’s eyes since the moment he recognised the song. He jerks his head almost imperceptibly, but of course Patrick sees it; the grin blooms over his face, wide and relieved, and he clearly pours his soul into the next verse.</p><p>
  <em>“I just wanna start again<br/>
And maybe you could show me how to try<br/>
And maybe you could take me in<br/>
Somewhere underneath your skin.”</em>
</p><p>As Patrick continues into the next chorus David stares up at him, full-on crying and no longer caring who’s looking at him. Someone whoops loudly from the audience when Patrick gets to the line <em>but I always come back for more, yeah</em>; when David glances over he’s pretty sure it was Twyla, who is looking back at him with glassy eyes and both hands pressed over her heart. He gives her a quick, sincere smile of gratitude before his gaze is inexorably drawn back to the stage.</p><p>As grand gestures go, it’s a hell of a moment.</p><p>They have a lot to talk about; a whole mess to work through. But Patrick has always, always been worth the effort.</p><p>And somehow, inexplicably, he thinks David is too.</p><p>The final chord of the song fades away, and David can’t wait a single second longer. He pushes away from the counter, ignoring Stevie’s muttered “Go get ‘em, tiger” as he brushes past a couple of people standing in front of him and steps up onto the stage to throw his arms around Patrick’s neck.</p><p>It feels like coming home.</p><p>It’s not an elegant kiss; there’s a guitar in the way, for a start, and first David is crying and then Patrick is too, and someone (he’s pretty sure Roland) wolf-whistles which is <em>incorrect</em> and then everyone is applauding until they break apart, embarrassed. By no standards is it a good kiss, and yet somehow, it’s perfect.</p>
<hr/><p>Not that he’s planning on <em>needing</em> a grand gesture again, but someone should probably explain to Patrick that the romance is somewhat sucked out of the moment when he then has to spend the next two hours wrangling and introducing people far less talented than him. David grits his teeth through amateur singers and budding comedians and one surprisingly funny ventriloquist routine until finally, <em>finally,</em> the show is over and people start filing out. Almost everyone in the store comes over to talk to David first, though, and by the time it’s just him and Patrick and Stevie left in the store David is officially sick of people.</p><p>Stevie watches them both with a wide grin on her face for a moment before she speaks and when she does, she’s clearly choked up. “I’m really happy for you guys.”</p><p>“I thought you said I’d used up my sincerity allowance?”</p><p>“Well obviously I’m talking to Patrick then, aren’t I?” She jabs him in the side again, because she’s a menace. “I’ll leave the key under the mat, <em>if</em> you need it.” And leaving that awkwardness in her wake, she turns, grabbing one of the half-empty bottles of wine on her way out the door. Once the bell chimes, signalling her departure, Patrick turns to him with a soft smile on his face.</p><p>“Will you help me clean up, David?”</p><p>It’s not at all what David was expecting him to say, but it makes sense to get it out of the way first. They start setting the store in order in companionable silence, moving around each other in the kind of tandem that used to be — apparently still is — second nature. It’s only once the displays look perfect and all the garbage is in a bag resting against the front of the counter that Patrick reaches out hesitantly, winding his fingers through David’s before pulling him towards the back room.</p><p>And David means for them to talk, he really does. But Patrick’s palm is warm and dry against his, calluses rubbing into his skin, and David’s thumb brushes along the bracelet still wrapped around Patrick’s wrist as a reminder of the apologies that came before, and Patrick is looking at him <em>like that</em> and David had forgotten what it felt like to be adored. So he really can’t be blamed when he uses the hand holding his to tug Patrick closer towards him, the other hand placed gently on his jaw to pull him in for another, this time unencumbered by any musical instruments, kiss.</p><p>It’s the kind of kiss that starts off gentle, moves through filthy and somehow finds itself back at languid. David’s not really sure which one of them manoeuvres their bodies over to the couch; the first time he’s aware of the movement is when the back of his legs hit the edge and then he’s tumbling down onto it, pulling Patrick onto his lap as he goes. One of Patrick’s hands winds itself into his hair, giving it a good sharp tug as he angles David’s head to get better access to his neck, and David lets out a long groan as he shoves his hands into the back pockets of Patrick’s jeans — which is an effort, they really are ridiculously tight. The hand of Patrick’s that isn’t otherwise occupied slides down David’s torso before working its way up under the hem of his t-shirt, fingernails scraping gently across a nipple and making him keen before pinching sharply. David arches into it, chasing Patrick’s hand as it moves back down his stomach before grabbing at his fly.</p><p>And it’s so hot, and so perfectly what he wants, but the gesture also brings him crashing back to earth. “Patrick, wait.”</p><p>Patrick pulls back immediately, gulping in a breath as he sits back close to David’s knees. Both his hands move away from David and David misses his touch as soon as it’s gone, but—</p><p>“We can’t, um. We can’t do this right now.”</p><p>“Right.” Patrick looks dazed and David can’t help himself — he lets his gaze drop to where Patrick is bulging obscenely in his jeans. “Yeah, we should— we should talk first.”</p><p>“No, that’s not… okay, maybe yes.” God, he wishes that was all that was stopping him. “It’s just, um. Fuck.” He stares up at the ceiling, terrified of what Patrick’s expression might do in the next ten seconds. “We probably can’t do… any of that… until I get tested. I haven’t been… um. Well. I need to get tested.”</p><p>“David.” Patrick’s voice is achingly, unbearably gentle, and when David risks glancing back at him there’s no hint of blame or recrimination on his face. Just acceptance and understanding and… love.</p><p>God, he’d forgotten what it felt like to be looked at like that.</p><p>“That makes perfect sense.” Patrick runs a thumb along David’s cheekbone and David leans into it shamelessly. “Should we go together to save us both making the drive to Thornbridge, or would you be more comfortable if we made separate appointments?”</p><p>There’s an ugly swoop in David’s stomach. “I didn’t realise you’d need to— okay.” It’s not— he has no right to— he’s not <em>surprised,</em> exactly, that Patrick’s been with other people while they’ve been apart. He’s sure guys with too-tight polos and offensive shoes were lining up around the block as soon as word got around that Patrick was single. He pushes away the unhelpful mental image of Patrick bringing some other guy back here, sinking to his knees in front of this couch for someone else. It’s not like it was with them; Patrick has his own apartment now. Why would he need to bring his dates here? But he’ll admit to being a tiny bit surprised that Patrick’s been having the kind of sex that would make him think he needs to be tested.</p><p>Maybe it’s just an abundance of caution. Which is fine. Smart, even.</p><p>Patrick looks at him for a long moment, his expression carefully neutral. “I do need to, but not for the reason you think.”</p><p>David tries and fails to keep the confusion off his face. “Okay?”</p><p>Patrick shifts his weight slightly so he can cup both hands on either side of David’s face, his grip firm and unyielding and yet somehow gentle. When he speaks it’s deliberate, as though he’s methodically choosing each word as he says it. “David, I’m not going to ask you to trust me again. That’s going to be up to you, okay? So we’ll both get tested.”</p><p>David blinks back tears. <em>I do trust you,</em> he thinks, but he doesn’t say it. He wants to be absolutely, one hundred percent sure he means it when he does, and they have more than a few things to talk about first. He tries to get as close as he can instead. “We can go together.”</p><p>“Okay.” Patrick leans in to kiss him again, David’s face still in his hands. It’s a chaste kiss right up until it isn’t; until Patrick is licking desperately into his mouth, until David’s hands find their way back into Patrick’s pockets.</p><p>“You know…” The words are gasped against David’s lips, punctuated by Patrick rocking his hips. “I feel like a few more minutes of this and protection doesn’t need to be a concern.”</p><p>David growls, pulling Patrick closer until their cocks are grinding together, separated though they are by two sets of denim. The friction is too much and perfect and he surges forward, sinking his teeth into Patrick’s bottom lip and making him gasp before tangling their lips together in something approximating a kiss. Patrick grinds down into his lap over and over, his movements frantic and uncontrollable, and all David can do is dig his fingertips into Patrick’s ass through the jeans and hang on for the ride.</p><p>It’s Patrick who comes first, eyes fluttering shut and head tipping back with a loud groan. David peppers kisses along his jaw as he shudders through it, and despite the fact that he must be oversensitive Patrick doesn’t let up, hips circling again and again until David’s orgasm ricochets through him. It’s only once David’s finished twitching that Patrick finally slumps forward, forehead resting on David’s shoulder as they both catch their breath.</p><p>They take turns cleaning up in the bathroom, Patrick insisting that David go first, and then they curl up on the couch with David tucked up under Patrick’s arm as if he belongs there; as if no time has passed at all. The silence between them is comfortable rather than awkward, but David breaks it anyway.</p><p>“I love you.”</p><p>Patrick’s breath hitches; David can feel it under his fingertips where they’re spread out on Patrick’s chest. “David.” Patrick has always had this uncanny ability to make his name sound like a thousand promises all wrapped up into one, so David doesn’t need him to continue, but he does anyway. “I love you so much. I’m so glad you came back.”</p><p>David knows they have a lot to talk about; more to the point, he knows they’re <em>going</em> to talk about it. He just wants to bask in this for a little while longer.</p><p>“Hey.” Patrick presses a kiss to his neck, just below his earlobe. “Can we talk tomorrow?”</p><p>The laughter bubbles out of him, easier than it has in six months. “We can talk whenever you like.”</p><p>“Just preferably not before 10am, I know.”</p><p>David shakes his head, pulling Patrick closer and burying his face in Patrick’s shoulder to hide his tears. “No. Any time.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Yes, the sweater David's wearing is <a href="https://imgur.com/0tKpyQu">the one he wears in canon at the end of SSTN</a>, because I'm Just Like That.</p><p>PHEW. We're almost there, y'all -- just an epilogue to go! ❤️</p>
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<a name="section0012"><h2>12. We never could get enough</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>An epistolary conclusion.</p>
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  <p class="textfield">From: davidrose@gmail.com</p>
  <p class="textfield">Subject: Resignation Letter</p>
  <p class="textfield">To: sabrina@postabsolute.com</p>
  <p class="textfield">Sent: 21 Dec 2018 10:57</p>
  <p class="textfield">Attached: <span class="attach"> <span class="u">resignation.docx (23 KB) </span></span></p>
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  <p>Hi Sabrina,</p>
  <p>Thanks again for your understanding on the phone this morning. I’ve attached an official resignation letter just in case you need it.</p>
  <p>I’ll be back in town just after the new year to pack up all my stuff, so if you need me to come in and transition anything I’d be more than happy to do that.</p>
  <p>While it’s admittedly a low bar, I can say with confidence you’re the best boss I’ve ever had, and I really enjoyed our time working together.</p>
  <p>Regards,<br/>
David Rose</p>
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<span class="header">Klair</span><br/>
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<span class="time"><b>Fri, 21 Dec,</b> 12:03 PM</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Just letting you know I’m moving back to Schitt’s Creek - I’ll be back just after new year to pack up all my stuff and will be able to get the key back to you on like the 6th if that’s okay. Thanks again for letting me stay</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Klair: </b></span>Wait you’re moving back like voluntarily? Ew</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Klair: </b></span>I’ll get Albany to get the key back from you, I’ll be in Tulum for most of January</span>
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</p><p class="sticky"><span class="hide"><b>STICKY NOTE:</b></span>
<em><span class="u">APPOINTMENTS</span><br/>
Thornbridge Health Clinic, 10am, Friday 28th Dec<br/>
(Alexis will watch the store)</em></p><p><br/>
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<span class="header">Ronnie</span><br/>
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<span class="time"><b>Sat, 22 Dec,</b> 4:19 PM</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Ronnie: </b></span>So Roland tells me you’re back with the thumb</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Ronnie: </b></span>I hope you made him work for it</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Ronnie: </b></span>But I’m glad you’re back</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Ronnie: </b></span>I’ve been really missing the body milk</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>The “body milk” really missed you too, Ronnie</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Ronnie: </b></span>Yeah yeah ok</span>
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<span class="header">Mom</span><br/>
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<span class="time"><b>Sun, 23 Dec,</b> 1:11 PM</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Moira: </b></span>Were you planning on informing your progenitors that you’re moving back to Schitt’s Creek?</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Moira: </b></span>To be illuminated by Jocelyn of your comings and goings. Honestly David, it’s like having to confer with Adelina as to your jet usage all over again</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Okay I haven’t actually told Jocelyn I’m moving back though so...</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Moira: </b></span>I notice you’re not denying the scuttlebutt</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>No I’m not denying it. I’m moving back.</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>I’m just saying Jocelyn is making assumptions</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Even though they happen to be right this time</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Moira: </b></span>Does that mean you’ve patched things up with my darling emcee?</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Not sure if that’s his preferred mode of address but yes</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>I mean we’ve got some stuff to work through, but I love him, so I’m moving back</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Moira: </b></span>Well I can’t say I understand why anyone would forsake New York for Schitt’s Creek of all places</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Moira: </b></span>But you do deserve to be loved the way Patrick has always loved you</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Um, thanks</span><br/>
<span class="readreceipt"><b>Read</b> 2:02 PM</span>
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        <span class="instUser">roseapothecary</span>
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 <b>163</b> likes<br/>
<b>roseapothecary</b> <span class="instLink">#MerryChristmas</span> from the Rose Apothecary family to yours. See you on <span class="instLink">#BoxingDay</span>!</span><br/>
<span class="instComments">View all 23 comments</span><br/>
<span class="instTimestamp">Dec 24, 2018</span>
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<span class="header">✨ Ted ✨</span><br/>
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<span class="time"><b>Tue, 25 Dec,</b> 9:06 AM</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Ted: </b></span>Merry Christmas, Alexis</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Ted: </b></span>❤️</span><br/>
<span class="greply"><span class="hide"><b>Alexis: </b></span>Merry Christmas Ted ❤️</span>
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<span class="header">Mrs Brewer</span><br/>
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<span class="time"><b>Tue, 25 Dec,</b> 11:11 AM</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Marcy: </b></span>Oh David I meant to say on the phone and forgot. I’m so sorry I didn’t have time to send you a Christmas gift. You should have it by the new year.</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Oh that’s really kind of you, you don’t have to do that</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Marcy: </b></span>Nonsense sweetheart, you’re family</span>
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<span class="header">Stevie</span><br/>
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<span class="time"><b>Tue, 25 Dec,</b> 3:15 PM</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Just checking in to see whether you have alcohol poisoning yet</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>Not yet!</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>I’ll check back in an hour</span><br/>
<span class="readreceipt"><b>Read</b> 3:19 PM</span>
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<span class="header">Taylor</span><br/>
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<span class="time"><b>Sat, 29 Dec,</b> 1:57 AM</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Taylor: </b></span>Hey you up</span><br/>
<span class="time"><b>Sat, 29 Dec,</b> 9:44 AM</span><br/>
<span class="greply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>I actually moved back to Canada</span><br/>
<span class="greply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>And got back together with my boyfriend</span><br/>
<span class="time"><b>Sat, 29 Dec,</b> 12:18 PM</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Taylor: </b></span>Let me know when you’re back in town</span><br/>
<span class="greply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Yeah I will not be doing that</span></p>
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<span class="header">Alexis</span><br/>
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<span class="time"><b>Sat, 29 Dec,</b> 1:44 PM</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Alexis: </b></span>Twy wants to do a cute little new year’s eve gathering at our place to watch the ball drop</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Alexis: </b></span>You and Patrick should come!</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Yeah that sounds really nice actually, we’d love to</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Is it okay if we invite Stevie too?</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Alexis: </b></span>Already did!  🎉🥂</span><br/>
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  <p class="textfield">From: davidrose@gmail.com</p>
  <p class="textfield">Subject: Fwd: eTicket Itinerary and Receipt for Confirmation AZD9K3</p>
  <p class="textfield">To: patrickanthonybrewer@gmail.com</p>
  <p class="textfield">Sent: 2 Jan 2019 10:22</p>
  <p class="textfield">Attached: <span class="attach"> <span class="u">AZD9K3.pdf (104 KB) </span></span></p>
</div><div class="ebody">
  <p>Still not totally clear on why I have to forward this to you instead of you just writing down my departure/arrival times like a normal person but here.</p>
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  <p class="textfield">From: patrickanthonybrewer@gmail.com</p>
  <p class="textfield">Subject: Re: Fwd: eTicket Itinerary and Receipt for Confirmation AZD9K3</p>
  <p class="textfield">To: davidrose@gmail.com</p>
  <p class="textfield">Sent: 2 Jan 2019 10:27</p>
</div><div class="ebody">
  <p>I told you, David, if I have your exact flight numbers then I can keep an eye on FlightRadar.</p>
  <p>Love,<br/>
Patrick</p>
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  <p class="textfield">From: davidrose@gmail.com</p>
  <p class="textfield">Subject: Re: Re: Fwd: eTicket Itinerary and Receipt for Confirmation AZD9K3</p>
  <p class="textfield">To: patrickanthonybrewer@gmail.com</p>
  <p class="textfield">Sent: 2 Jan 2019 10:31</p>
</div><div class="ebody">
  <p>YOU ARE LITERALLY A METRE AWAY FROM ME AND SEPARATED BY NOTHING BUT A FLIMSY CURTAIN WHY ARE YOU EMAILING ME BACK??????</p>
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  <p class="textfield">From: patrickanthonybrewer@gmail.com</p>
  <p class="textfield">Subject: Re: Re: Re: Fwd: eTicket Itinerary and Receipt for Confirmation AZD9K3</p>
  <p class="textfield">To: davidrose@gmail.com</p>
  <p class="textfield">Sent: 2 Jan 2019 10:34</p>
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  <p>Maybe I’m just really going to miss you while you’re in New York?</p>
  <p>Love,<br/>
Patrick</p>
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  <p class="textfield">From: davidrose@gmail.com</p>
  <p class="textfield">Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Fwd: eTicket Itinerary and Receipt for Confirmation AZD9K3</p>
  <p class="textfield">To: patrickanthonybrewer@gmail.com</p>
  <p class="textfield">Sent: 2 Jan 2019 10:37</p>
</div><div class="ebody">
  <p>Ok you can’t say things like that.</p>
  <p>It’s only three days.</p>
  <p>Then I’ll be back home.</p>
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  <p class="textfield">From: patrickanthonybrewer@gmail.com</p>
  <p class="textfield">Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Fwd: eTicket Itinerary and Receipt for Confirmation AZD9K3</p>
  <p class="textfield">To: davidrose@gmail.com</p>
  <p class="textfield">Sent: 2 Jan 2019 10:39</p>
</div><div class="ebody">
  <p>Can you come back here for a moment? I think there’s something in here that needs your attention.</p>
  <p>Love,<br/>
Patrick</p>
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<span class="header">David</span><br/>
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<span class="time"><b>Sat, 05 Jan,</b> 8:03 PM</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>OH MY GOD</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>I don’t want to jinx it</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>But they MIGHT be boarding my flight</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Fucking finally</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>A four hour delay is INCORRECT</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>I just want to see you</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>And not be here anymore</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>You’ll see me really soon David</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>I’m right here waiting for you</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>Just like always</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Um please don’t make me cry when I’m about to get on a plane</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>I’m exhausted</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>I’m looking forward to seeing you but I am not looking forward to getting home so late</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>Would it help if I told you I’ve booked a hotel in Toronto for the night?</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>...</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Are you serious? </span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>The store’s closed tomorrow</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>Figured we both might be a bit tired to make the drive home</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>I don’t sleep well without you</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>STOP IT</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Thank you, Patrick</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>OKAY WE’RE BOARDING</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>THIS IS NOT A DRILL</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>I’m turning my phone off see you when we land love you</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>I love you, have a safe flight!</span>
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  <p class="textfield">From: david.rose@roseapothecary.com</p>
  <p class="textfield">Subject: Rose Apothecary Vendor Contract 2019</p>
  <p class="textfield">To: info@warnerfarms.ca</p>
  <p class="textfield">CC: patrick.brewer@roseapothecary.com</p>
  <p class="textfield">Sent: 8 Jan 2019 10:39</p>
  <p class="textfield">Attached: <span class="attach"> <span class="u">WarnerFarms2019.pdf (46 KB) </span></span></p>
</div><div class="ebody">
  <p>Hi Heather,</p>
  <p>Thanks again for your time yesterday afternoon. Please find attached a copy of the new vendor contract for 2019. As discussed it’s essentially a return to our previous terms, with a discount for your understanding during the temporary changes put in place last year.</p>
  <p>If you have any questions, please feel free to get in touch with either myself or Patrick.</p>
  <p>Warm regards,<br/>
David Rose</p>
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<span class="header">Ray</span><br/>
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<span class="time"><b>Thu, 10 Jan,</b> 7:22 PM</span><br/>
<span class="greply"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>Hi Ray, I want to add David to the lease on this apartment. Can you let me know what paperwork I need to sign?</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Ray: </b></span>Oh that’s a big step! I’m very excited for you both</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Ray: </b></span>I remember when David thought you were moving in together and then you weren’t</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Ray: </b></span>Does he know what’s happening this time?</span><br/>
<span class="greply"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>We’ve talked about it, Ray, yes</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Ray: </b></span>I’ll talk to the landlord and get a new lease agreement written up</span><br/>
<span class="greply"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>Thanks so much</span>
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<span class="header">Stevie</span><br/>
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<span class="time"><b>Thu, 24 Jan,</b> 5:21 PM</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>How’s Alberta</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>Fucking cold</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>You know what’s bullshit?</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>Corporate clothing for women</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>You're not wrong</span><br/>
<span class="readreceipt"><b>Read</b> 5:53 PM</span>
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<span class="header">Patrick</span><br/>
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<span class="time"><b>Mon, 04 Feb,</b> 3:51 PM</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Oh shit I forgot to ask before you left</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Can you please pick up some pancake mix on your way back from therapy? We ran out this morning</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>Or I could teach you how to make pancakes from scratch</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Yeah Alexis already threatened to do that but sometimes I just want them quickly</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>I don’t think offering to teach you how to make pancakes is a threat, David.</span>
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<span class="header">David</span><br/>
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<span class="time"><b>Thu, 14 Feb,</b> 9:03 AM</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>Care to explain the giant bouquet that the delivery driver was banging down the door to give me the second I opened the store?</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Maybe you have a secret admirer</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>A secret admirer that signs a card “Happy Valentine’s Day honey I love you”?</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Maybe</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>David</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>You hate Valentine’s Day</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Yeah, but you don’t</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Happy Valentine’s Day, honey. I love you.</span>
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<span class="time"><b>Fri, 01 Mar,</b> 8:11 PM</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Ray: </b></span>Patrick! You and David should come over for a games night tomorrow night. They really haven’t been the same without your competitive spirit</span><br/>
<span class="greply"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>David wants to know how many will be there</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Ray: </b></span>Including the two of you we’ll have 10 people, a great group!</span><br/>
<span class="time"><b>Fri, 01 Mar,</b> 9:27 PM</span><br/>
<span class="greply"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>We’d love to come, Ray</span>
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<span class="header">Stevie</span><br/>
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<span class="time"><b>Sun, 17 Mar,</b> 11:03 AM</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Hey your coat is still hanging on our coat rack</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Do you need it before you fly out tomorrow or just want to grab it when you’re back?</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>Oh fuck I thought I was forgetting something when I left but couldn’t figure it out</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>I’ll come get it this afternoon</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Just text me when you’re on your way over</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>Oh but I was really hoping to catch the two of you banging it out on the couch again</span>
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<span class="header">Jocelyn</span><br/>
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<span class="time"><b>Tue, 09 Apr,</b> 09:44 AM</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Jocelyn: </b></span>Hi David! I popped into the store first thing but only Patrick was there. He said you’d be more than happy to help me plan Rollie Jr’s 2nd birthday party. That’s so sweet of you! Let me know when a good time for us to talk about it!</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Patrick said what</span><br/>
<span class="readreceipt"><b>Read</b> 10:08 AM</span>
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<span class="header">Mom</span><br/>
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<span class="time"><b>Thu, 02 May,</b> 3:33 PM</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Okay it’s really nice of you to shop through the store website</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>But we actually lose money on shipping to LA</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>So maybe just let me know what you need next time</span><br/>
<span class="readreceipt"><b>Read</b> 3:58 PM</span>
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<span class="header">Twyla</span><br/>
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<span class="time"><b>Tue, 14 May,</b> 11:43 AM</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Twyla: </b></span>Hey David, how’s it going? Can you remind your mom that the Jazzagals are competing in San Diego this weekend? </span><br/>
<span class="greply"><span class="hide"><b>David: </b></span>Don’t you literally live with my sister? Make her talk to my mom</span>
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  <p class="messagebodyIDM"><span class="headerIDM"><span class="hide"><b>Messages with </b></span>rachel.anderson</span><br/>
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<span class="textIDM"><span class="hide"><b>rachel.anderson: </b></span>Hey Patrick. I know we haven’t spoken in a while but I just wanted to say that’s a really sweet video you posted from your open mic night the other night. David’s a lucky guy.</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="replyIDM"><span class="hide"><b>roseapothecary: </b></span>Hi! This is actually Alexis Rose, I’m David’s sister and Rose Apothecary’s social media manager. I will totally pass this on to Patrick though, they’re so in love and gross. How do you know Patrick?</span><br/>
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<span class="textIDM"><span class="hide"><b>rachel.anderson: </b></span>Um, I’m actually his ex?</span><br/>
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<span class="replyIDM"><span class="hide"><b>roseapothecary: </b></span>Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh</span><br/>
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<span class="replyIDM"><span class="hide"><b>roseapothecary: </b></span>Um, sorry about the “super in love” thing</span><br/>
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<span class="textIDM"><span class="hide"><b>rachel.anderson: </b></span>No, it’s fine. They totally are, you can see it just in that clip.</span><br/>
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<span class="textIDM"><span class="hide"><b>rachel.anderson: </b></span>I should have texted Patrick rather than messaging his work page anyway.</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="textIDM"><span class="hide"><b>rachel.anderson: </b></span>It was nice to “meet” you, Alexis.</span><br/>
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<span class="replyIDM"><span class="hide"><b>roseapothecary: </b></span>You too girl</span><br/>
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<span class="header">Mom</span><br/>
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<span class="time"><b>Sun, 09 Jun,</b> 9:31 AM</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Marcy: </b></span>We haven’t forgotten about you, sweetheart. Your dad’s still out golfing but as soon as he gets home we’ll call</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Marcy: </b></span>In the meantime, happy birthday! I hope you’re having a lovely day</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>Thanks mom</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>We’re um</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>It’s sort of a rough day for us both actually?</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>Given last year</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>But we’re doing okay</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Marcy: </b></span>Oh Patrick, that’s understandable. Give David a big hug from me, okay? And tell him I said he needs to give you one too.</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>I will. Thanks mom.</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Marcy: </b></span>We’ll call as soon as your dad is back. I told him not to go golfing with Bill Lane today. That man never met a story he couldn’t turn into an essay.</span>
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</p><p class="sticky"><span class="hide"><b>STICKY NOTE:</b></span>
<em>I love you.<br/>
Thank you for yesterday, and every day.<br/>
No rush to get into the store, see you when I see you.</em></p><p><br/>
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<span class="header">Alexis</span><br/>
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<span class="time"><b>Mon, 10 Jun,</b> 11:44 AM</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>Thanks again for the bringing that cake around yesterday, I can’t believe you made it!</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Alexis: </b></span>Oh aren’t you the sweetest? Twy might have helped me a little bit with the decorating but don’t tell David</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Alexis: </b></span>How is David today? And how are you?</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>He’s good, we’re good. Thanks for checking</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Alexis: </b></span>Of course 💜💜💜</span>
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      <b>INSTAGRAM POST:</b>
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<span>

        <span class="instUser">roseapothecary</span>
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<span class="instText">
 <b>86</b> likes<br/>
<b>roseapothecary</b> Happy birthday to Rose Apothecary — we had our friends and family soft launch three years ago today! We’ve loved being part of the community for the last three years and are looking forward to many more. <span class="instLink">#ShopLocal</span></span><br/>
<span class="instComments">View all 14 comments</span><br/>
<span class="instTimestamp">Jun 24, 2019</span>
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<span class="header">Patrick</span><br/>
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<span class="time"><b>Thu, 24 Jun,</b> 6:41 PM</span><br/>
<span class="breply"><span class="hide"><b>Stevie: </b></span>🕵️ The eagle has landed 🕵️</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>Really, Stevie?</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>You’ve been texting Alexis too much</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>But, thank you</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>I’ll find an excuse to swing by without David in the next couple of days</span><br/>
<span class="text"><span class="hide"><b>Patrick: </b></span>Thanks again for letting me use your address</span>
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  <p class="innerletter">Happy birthday, handsome.<br/>
Sorry about the early wake up, but I think I made it worth your while...<br/>
Hopefully you got some extra sleep!<br/>
I’ll close lunchtime and then come get you.<br/>
Wear something comfortable —<br/>
I’m taking you on a picnic ♥</p>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>*crawls over the finish line and empties a bottle of water over their head*</p><p>Holy crap. I cannot tell you what all the comments and screaming at me on Tumblr has meant to me, truly. This is by far the hardest I've ever worked on a fic and I'm so grateful for everyone's support (being sworn at is my love language, so this was great). And also a big shoutout to the people who are just starting now so they can read this all in one go because they couldn't deal with the cliffhangers; I see you and respect you.</p><p>Truly, this fic would not exist without ships_to_sail who got me started, and both her and fishyspots who held my hand and read this thing chapter by chapter (without the security of a posting schedule that y'all had, just by the way!) and made it approximately 800 times better along the way. You're both, as the cool kids say, simply the best. ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️   </p><p>Feel free to come and yell at me on <a href="http://yourbuttervoicedbeau.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a>.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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